Vignettes of Steele: Olivia
by RSteele82
Summary: (The Vignette Series) An addition to the Canon Series. Follows Olivia as she grows up. Short (1500 words or less each 'chapter'), sometimes funny, sometimes poignant, glimpses into the childhood of Laura and Remington's first born.
1. January 1988 - 10 Weeks Old

_**A/N: A holiday gift for my readers. Thank you for your ongoing support and encouragement.**_

 _ **Over the years I have been writing RS fanfiction, there have been many 'little moments' - poignant, serious, lighthearted or simply funny - that have traipsed through my mind. While these little scenes fit within the canon series, there has been no way to legitimately weave them into the current tale.**_

 _ **The Vignettes of Steele Series follow the Steele children as they grow. Thus, as we know now (November 2017), there are three different 'books' in this series:**_

 _ **Vignettes of Steele: Olivia**_  
 _ **Vignettes of Steele: Sophia**_  
 _ **Vignettes of Steele: Holt**_

 _ **Each chapter of these stories is 1500 words or less: Brief and hopefully enjoyable.**_

 _ **From 11/20 until 12/31/17 I will be adding a Vignette story every day or two. After that, as they strike me.**_

 _ **I hope you enjoy!**_

 _ **And far more importantly - I hope this holiday season finds you each happy and well, and will provide you many happy memories for the years ahead.**_

 _ **RSteele82**_

* * *

 _January 1988 – Ten weeks old_

Laura stood in the open, private doorway of Remington's office and leaned her shoulder against the jamb, a pile of folders clutched to her chest. She allowed herself a brief moment to simply enjoy watching him where he sat at his desk, feet propped up on the corner, leaning back in his chair, cup of tea near at hand and reading a newspaper.

"That's what I love about you, Mr. Steele. You arrive late, then just dive right into the day," she commented with false enthusiasm as she made a 'get up and go' gesture with her fist. Remington lowered his paper then peered at her over the top of it, giving her a crooked grin.

"We each have our roles, Mrs. Steele. Yours is to slog through the seemingly endless mountains of paperwork—"

"While yours is to sleep in late then peruse the movie listings at your leisure, as you concoct a plan for how you're going to sneak out this afternoon?" she challenged, lifting her brows at him. He pursed his lips in amusement.

"Really, Laura," he feigned insult, "I'll have you know I'm currently reviewing our investments, whilst considering a few changes to assure our financial future." She nodded her head slowly, as she approached his desk.

"Nice try," she answered, drily, as she dropped the stack of files on his desk. "I'm afraid Humphrey, Cary, Albert, William, or whoever it is you have in mind will have to wait," she commented with a little too much glee, as far as he was concerned, as she flounced back towards the door.

"But, Lau-ra—" he cajoled, for posterity's sake.

"Files," she cut him off short, as she stepped into their private breakroom, reaching for her mug and the coffee pot simultaneously. "And Mr. Steele," she called back to him, "I know Olivia's on your lap."

He looked down at their infant daughter, who was peering back at him with a pair of bright blue eyes like his own and raised a brow at her.

"And _that_ , a stór, is why you'll never be able to slip one past your mother."

On his lap, Olivia smiled and cooed, kicking her little legs in answer.


	2. Valentine's Day 1988 - 3 months old

_Valentine's Day 1988 – Three and a half months old_

"Laura?" Remington called from the entryway, as he shrugged off his coat, tossing it over a chair, then picking up his offerings from where he'd laid them on the credenza.

"In the living room," she called back.

He found her stretched out on the floor next to Olivia's blanket where the baby lay. Smiling widely, he held out the fluffy, brown bear with a red heart embroidered on its chest.

"You romantic, you," she teased, her brown eyes dancing with mirth. He looked down upon her with feigned exasperation.

"Really, Laura, how many times must I remind you I'd never bestow a _teddy bear_ upon a woman?" With a flourish, he removed his other hand from behind his back. " _These_ are for you," he held out the long, gold box, tied with a red bow. Tucking her legs to the side, she sat up and accepted the box from him with a smile, then watched as he stretched out on the opposite side of the blanket from her, wiggling the teddy bear above Olivia.

Olivia cooed at the bear, reaching for it clumsily while chugging her legs excitedly.

"A bear, however, for a little lady is a completely different matter. Isn't that so, a stor?" he asked his infant daughter, as she continued to coo, kick and reach for the bear held just out of her reach. "For you, a dozen bears, a peck, a bushel—"

"And a new house in which there's room to store all those bears," Laura added drily, as she lifted the lid from the box holding two-dozen long-stemmed roses. Her eyes snapped upwards to find a pleased, cheeky grin on her husband's face. "With a closet big enough to fit all the jewelry Mommy suddenly has," she sing-songed to Olivia.

 _You shouldn't have_ , the look she bestowed upon her husband said, as she picked up the velvet covered jewelers box from where it was nestled amongst the blossoms.

His grin merely widened and he waggled his brows at her. Her lashes fluttered downward and she tentatively opened the lid, her eyes flickering up to his face when she saw what the box contained.

"You _really_ shouldn't have, Remington," she protested as she removed the necklace from its box. She hung the chain from her fingers, watching prisms reflect off the diamonds encrusting the sculpted heart pendant. Between them, the baby cooed at the glittering object dangling above her.

"Nonsense," he disagreed. "Several years back, I saw a piece much like this one," he reached out and fingered the pendant, "That I wished very much to purchase for a particular young woman who'd thoroughly caught me by the heart. But I was… worried, if you will… being given a piece such as this, would be far too revealing and might send the young lady running for the hills…" He arched a brow at her. "Not to mention may have invited questions I was unprepared, myself, to answer. So, instead, I presented her with a much more… understated… trinket." Releasing the pendant, he reached for the charm on the necklace she was wearing, to finger it. "A piece which still conveyed the same meaning, but obliquely enough that we could both pretend it was anything but what it was." She graced him with a dimple smile and a challenge glimmering in her eyes.

"And now?" she challenged.

"And now," he released the pendant, and touched two fingers under her chin, "I've no reason to hide what it is I feel."

Leaning over the baby, he touched his lips to hers.

She uttered a surprised gasp, parting their lips, when Olivia let out a squeal of glee.

They shared a smile when they saw the source of their baby's joy: she'd managed to grasp that bit of sparkling temptation in her hand.

"Like father, like daughter," Laura mused.


	3. April 1988 - 5 months old

_April 1988 – 5 ½ months old_

"Mr. Steele and I are leaving for lunch with Mr. Blevins," Laura informed Bernice, from where she stood in front of the reception desk.

"You have a two-thirty with a new client," Bernice reminded her, moving several files off a stack then opening one. "Jeremiah Benton, from Conway, Arkansas. His fifteen year old daughter ran away from home to be a star in LA." Laura checked her watch, and nodded.

"Even with Mr. Steele's penchant for getting long winded, we should be back in plenty of time."

"Long-winded?" Remington asked, drawing out each word with indignation, as he stepped out of the office closing the door behind him and stood behind his wife and partner. Bernice leaned forward and planted an elbow on her desk, then leaned her chin in her hand.

"Oh, this outta be good," she drawled. Laura's brows drew together and she gave her friend and Agency receptionist a quizzical look.

"What are you talk—" She stopped mid-sentence as she turned to share a questioning look with Remington. Her jaw dropped open and she looked at him as though he'd gone mad. " _What_ … do you _think_ you're doing?" He gave her his best look of innocence.

"I believe the same as yourself. A business lunch with Blevins, wasn't it?" he asked, blithely ignoring the fact he held the baby in one arm and had her diaper bag slung over the other shoulder. "Really, Laura, I'm beginning to worry you're spreading yourself too thin, forgetting things here and there. This lunch has been scheduled for weeks." She took a deep, cleansing breath and let it out slowly before speaking.

"And you would be carrying Olivia's diaper bag… why?"

"Yeah, why?" Bernice chimed in. Remington narrowed his eyes at her over Laura's shoulder in a manner that clearly said 'You, stay out of this', then gave his wife a look of concern.

"We've been toting this bag about for nearly six months now, so I should think you would know." He held a hand against her forehead. "Are you not feeling well? We could always reschedule this luncheon if you'd like." With a roll of her eyes, she smacked his hand away, then plunked her hands on her hips.

"The baby is _not_ coming with us to a _business_ luncheon," she pronounced.

"I don't see why not. It's not as though she's an imposing figure, and she's a very well-behaved child." Said child, of course, chose that moment to reach up, grasp a handful of his hair and while giving it a healthy tug, let out a squeal he was fairly certain left his eardrum tattered. He briefly considered extracting her chubby little hand from his hair, but decided it might undermine his argument. He was rewarded with another hard yank. "Besides, Olivia possesses her Da's considerable charm. She'll have Blevins eating out of her palm before drinks are served."

"Have you taken a blow to your head that I'm unaware of?" she questioned, her voice rising an octave at the absurdity of what he was proposing. "Either tell me what is going or take the baby—"

"She's going to sit up any day now." She waited for more, but it never came.

" _And?"_ She drew out the word.

"We've already missed the babe rolling over the first time," he explained, as though she should understand without explanation. "That we might do the same the first time she sits up is… is… unacceptable, borders on offensive, even," he argued, passionately.

"That's so… sweet," Bernice interjected.

"Not helpful, Bernice," Laura scolded lightly, although she secretly felt the same. She was no less unhappy they'd missed out on one of the coveted firsts, but had forced herself to accept it was part of being a parent and business owner. "Mildred!" she called out. Mildred hustled out of her office, holding up her hands.

"I tried to tell him you'd never go for it, hon," the older woman defended herself, lest she be held complicit in Remington's scheme. Laura took Olivia from Remington's arms and handed her to Mildred, then passed on the diaper bag as well.

"It's nearly Olivia's nap time. Can you make sure she's not… inspired… to sit up before she goes down for nap?" Mildred and Bernice chuckled at Laura's request.

"Sure, hon," Mildred agreed easily. "She and Auntie Mildred will go sit in the rocker and read a story together. She can't very well sit up on her own if she's already sitting up." She looked at Olivia, and widening her eye, switched to baby talk. "Can you, honey? No, you can't," she answered for the infant as she walked with her into Remington's office. Laura grasped Remington's hand, and gave it a tug.

"Come along, Mr. Steele."

He accompanied her obediently, giving a last glance over his shoulder towards his office door, wondering how he'd somehow lost control of the perfect plan, yet again.

* * *

" _What_ are you _doing?_ " Laura asked, standing cross armed in the doorway between her office and the breakroom. Several thumps and what sounded like a drill being used, had drawn her away from her work to see what was going on.

"I've divined the perfect solution to us no longer missing Olivia's firsts," Remington answered, from where he stood on a stepstool in the corner of the nursery. Olivia lay on her tummy on a blanket on the floor, staring up at him, fascinated. "It's such a logical solution, I'm amazed you haven't thought of it by now."

"You're placing our child under _video surveillance_?" she asked, in disbelief. He flashed her a smile as he made a final adjustment on the camera's angle, then stepped down off the stool.

"Brilliant solution, don't you agree?"


	4. May 1988 - 6 months old

_May 1988 – 6 months old_

It had been the lazy Sunday Laura and Remington had come to favor in the last two years. Breakfast in bed, followed by time playing with Olivia, a movie as she napped, then a family dip in the pool, and a late, lazy afternoon spent swaying in the hammock together. As dinner cooked, they'd retired to the living room, Olivia playing with her toys on the floor, while Remington worked Laura's feet over where they were positioned on opposite sides of the couch.

"Thank you, for today." He looked up at her through his lashes, and flashed a quick smile.

"Pleasure."

"I have to admit, I thought you'd get carried away," she smiled.

"I believe you made some rather dire predictions in regards to our future bedroom antics should I go overboard," he reminded her, with a warm chuckle and a crook of a brow. She sighed contentedly.

"It was a wonderful day," she sighed, contentedly. "Just the three of us." He glanced at Olivia to make certain all was still well then did a double take.

"Laura—" he said her name quietly, then indicated the baby with his eyes. Turning her head, they watched together as, for the first time, Olivia crawled half a foot before resuming rocking on her hands and knees. Laura reached out a hand and squeezed Remington's when he placed his in hers.

"The perfect Mother's Day," she murmured.


	5. June 1988 - 7 months old

_March 1988 - 4 months old_

Laura reached for Remington in her sleep. It took a moment for her sleep fogged brain to register not only wasn't he in bed, but Olivia's hearty cries were coming over the baby monitor. Her brows furrowed at the fact the monitor was present, at all, as Remington always took it with him, to keep her from being awakened. Her eyes sought the alarm clock. 4:45. It had been weeks since Olivia had been looking for a bottle before the sun rose. Settling back into her pillow, she closed her eyes and waited for the baby to calm before she returned to her own dreams.

"Ah, Livvie, looking for your early morning meal, are you now?"

In their bedroom, Laura smiled as she heard the lyrical Irish cadence in her husband's voice, something that happened only he was the most content… or off-balance. And given who he now held in his arms, based on their daughter falling silent, she had every confidence it was the former. His low laughter confirmed her suspicion.

"Hungry, are you little one? One might think we never feed you, especially going on as you have been this morning."

Laura closed her eyes, intent on going back to sleep.

"In truth, a stór, I may owe you a debt of gratitude, waking me as you did. I was dreaming about my Ma, you see…"

Laura's eyes popped open at that.

"Not that I ever truly had a chance to know her. Yet throughout my life, there have been times I would swear I remember the feeling of her holding me when I was just a wee one, times when just the mere hint of the scent of daffodils or shamrocks bring her to mind. Then there are the dreams. Each time, the same soft voice, her lilt left unspoiled by her time spent in England. Always so… familiar. Familiar enough that I can imagine her telling me as a young lad that it's time to come in from play or instructing me it's time to leave for school."

Laura rolled to her back, fully awake now. That he dreamed of his mother was of no revelation to her. After all, very early in their association there had come a time when they'd fallen asleep on his living room floor as they lay there listening to Charlotte Knight's latest erotic novel recorded to audiotape. When she'd wakened him, he'd mumbled…

* * *

" _ **I'll be out in a minute, Mother."**_

* * *

And in the years since they'd begun sharing a bed, there'd been any number of occasions on which she'd been awakened by him talking, mostly incoherently, in his sleep. On a rare occasion, there was a wistful appearance about his expression, during which she often believed she heard him mutter 'Mother'. On those nights, she'd go back to sleep, leaving him to his dreams. But the majority of the time, his dreams were troubled, his expression – even in his sleep – haggard. What specific piece of his past haunted him, she had no idea, as he spoke to himself in French, Italian, Greek… and German?!... although on the rare occasion, she'd hear an utterance of 'Mother' as well. On those nights, she'd turn into him, laying her head under his shoulder, and rubbing his side soothingly, promising herself as he relaxed beneath her touch that she'd never ask him what chased him in his dreams, trusting if he wished her to know, he'd tell her.

She gave her head a gentle shake, and forced her attention back to the monitor.

"Do you believe it's possible? That I spent just enough time with my Mother that I can recall her voice, her scent… her touch?"

In the bedroom, Laura pressed a palm to her forehead and blinked her eyes rapidly, while she listened to Remington draw a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Well, never you mind that. Ah, a stór, you've no idea how fortunate you are to have your Mommy. One day you'll know, as I do, what a truly remarkable woman she is. It will bear you well to follow her lead… Especially in her steely resolve to resist a man's significant charms."

Laura laughed quietly, flashing a dimple at his comment and fingering a tendril of hair.

"Ah, a stór, when one is fortunate enough to be loved by your Mommy as you are? She'll move heaven and earth to keep you safe and well, to keep you with her."

Silence spanned several long seconds, and Laura turned to her side, closing her eyes, believing her husband had talked himself out – certainly a rare occasion for him. Her eyes blinked back open when he began speaking again.

"I've dreamt of the look upon your mother's face the first time you call her Mommy. It will be a sight to behold, I am sure. So, what's say you and I work together to make that happen, eh? After all, she's worth it."

Rustling transmitted over the monitor.

"Let's have a little burp, hmmm?"

The soft, steady rhythm of his hand patting the baby's back could be heard.

"Mommy. Can you say that, hmmm? Mommy…"

A mischievous grin lifted Laura's lips, as a plan of her own began to formulate. Turning to her side, she feigned sleep, until Remington climbed into bed next to her and reached for her, at which time she gladly turned, 'sleepily,' into his waiting arms.

* * *

Laura wandered into the kitchen as Remington was preparing breakfast Saturday morning.

"I didn't hear you come home," she commented as she pressed up on her toes to kiss him, then turned to the coffee pot to fill her cup after kissing Olivia's chubby little cheek where she lay in her bouncy chair which had become a permanent fixture on the kitchen island.

"Quiet as mice, we were," he confirmed, with a grin.

"Livvie, did you and _Da_ ," she reached out and caressed Remington's arm, "Have a good morning?" The baby gurgled in answer. "What are you and _Da_ ," she casually stroked Remington's arm, drawing another smile from him in her direction, "Making us for breakfast this morning?"

"I was thinking I'd try a new recipe: Lemon Ricotta pancakes with blueberry sauce, hmmm?" Her mouth watered at the description alone, but she lifted her brows at the baby.

"Your Da," another touch of hand to arm, as she commented wryly "Is determined I'll never lose the baby weight."

"Nonsense," he disagreed. "You're as slim as the day we met."

"Not quite," she corrected. "But in a couple of weeks, if Da," a touch this time to his shoulder, "Stops feeding me so well."

"And deprive myself of such pleasure?"

* * *

"Maidin mhaith _,_ _a thaisce. Cad iad na rudaí nua atá ag fanacht linn inniu, hmmm?"_ Remington crooned, reaching down into the crib to pick up the baby. "Eager to greet the new day, are you, then?" He carried her over to her changing table and laid her down. "Shall we work on or word as we change your nappy, hmmmm? Mommy. Let's give it a whirl, a stór. Mom-my…"

* * *

 _April 1988 – 5 months_

"Remington?" Laura called out, as she returned home from work. He'd had a late afternoon security consultation, so they'd come home separately.

"On the terrace," he called in answer.

"Do you want to go see Da, Olivia?" she asked the child, who had her legs wrapped around her side as her mother carried her. The baby cooed her agreement. Stepping out onto the terrace, Laura spied Remington in front of his grill. "Hi," she greeted, pressing up on her toes to give him a kiss, then laughed as Olivia lunged for him, causing them both to teeter precariously. He reached an arm around Laura, to keep them steady. "I'd say someone missed her Da," she commented, wryly, as he plucked the baby from her arms, and bussed the baby on her cheek.

"And her Da has missed her," he answered, giving Olivia a wide eyed, pointed look and a smile.

"Help Da," Laura instructed, touching her fingers to his cheek, "Make dinner while I get changed." With a final buss of her lips against his cheek, she went inside, smiling to herself all the while.

* * *

 _May 1988 – 6 ½ months_

"Laura?" Remington called, as he walked through the front door, his mood positively sour. They'd lost the polo match that morning, and had lost badly. That he'd played a fair part in that loss grated. Ciardha had been uncharacteristically skittish, and twice he'd shanked the ball far right of the goal. That he'd given up his Saturday morning routine for that loss. Well it positively…

"Da! Da-da-da-da-da," screeched his six-month-old daughter with glee, when he walked into the room. He stumbled to a stop, a hand reaching up to rub at his face, then an instant later, he was snatching the baby off her blanket and embracing her.

"Ah, a stór, such a greeting does wonders to make one forget all else," he murmured next to her ear, the whiskers against her cheek making her giggle, and push away to she could slap his cheeks happily.

Laura watched on with a smile as the father of her child blinked suspiciously wet eyes. Those psych courses in college had come in handy, after all. A little conditioning of father and daughter was all it had taken.

* * *

 _June 1988 - 7 months_

It was five-thirty when Oliva began chanting for her father, her voice coming over the monitor.

"Da! Da-da-da-da Da!"

"There might come a day when you wish she'd waited longer to say your name," Laura murmured sleepily, rolling to her back.

"Never," Remington vowed. "Next to her mother's lovely, lilting voice calling my name as she…" he waggled his brows at her, then leaned down to steal a couple sweet kisses from her lips, "It is the truly the sweetest of music to my ears.

It was a promise he never swayed from.


	6. August 1988 - 9 months old

_August 1988 – 9 months old_

Olivia had been uncharacteristically fussy all afternoon. With their meetings over for the day, Laura had retrieved their little one from the office nursery, and was pacing her office floor with Olivia's head resting on her shoulder. Every now and then, the baby would let loose with a whimper or squawk, rearing her head back and stiffening, before lying her head against Laura's shoulder again, her little hands clutching at her mother.

Remington stepped into the office, a frown on his face.

"You don't imagine it's her teeth again already, do you?" he wondered, reaching out a finger towards their child's mouth.

"I wouldn't—"

A swift intake of breath followed.

"Olivia, your Da will be needing that finger if you don't mind," he noted in a pained voice as he extricated his finger from the tiny teeth which had clamped down on it.

"Did I mention Olivia's figured out what teeth are for?" Laura asked, amusement lacing her words.

"To masticate food, not appendages," he protested, shaking the hand on which the now throbbing finger was located.

"I tried to warn you," she noted drily. He raised a brow at her back, before a mischievous grin lifted his lips.

"What's say we call it a day, and get the babe home, hmmmm?" he suggested. Laura turned to look at him, her eyes narrowing, suspiciously.

"Have you reviewed the case files I gave you and signed off on them?"

"I'm a wounded man, Laura," he held up the teeth marred finger as proof, "I couldn't possibly—"

"The files, Mr. Steele," she stated, adamantly.

"Awwwwww."


	7. October 1988 - 11 months old

_October 1988 – 11 months old_

"it's the fourth time in the last six months that a custom piece has been commissioned, only for us to discover the gems required are suddenly unable to be accounted for," the potential new client explained. "This last week it was four, flawless pieces of alexandrite." Remington sat forward in his seat, his attention now riveted on the client seated before him.

"Alexandrite, you say?" he asked with interest.

" _Flawless,_ alexandrite," the man confirmed, "All four stones perfectly matched. Our client contracted for a necklace, pair of earrings and ring, for which we collected a substantial deposit."

"Alexandrite?" Laura cut in.

"One of the rarest gems in the world," Remington supplied. "It was first found in the 1830's in the Ural Mountains of Russia and named, as it was, in honor of Alexander II. A stunning gem, appearing blue-green or magenta, depending upon the light. A flawless piece would fetch, oh, twelve-thousand a carat, or so. Four, perfectly matched, flawless pieces? Now we're speaking upwards of thirty-thousand a carat."

"How many carats are we speaking of in this case, Mr. Zuehlsdorff?" Laura inquired.

"Thirty-eight," he answered succinctly. "Eight meant for the ring, six each the earrings, and eighteen for the necklace."

"Forgive me, Mr. Zuehlsdorff, but pieces like these would not be easily rehomed. One can't just pop around to the local fence," Remington pointed out.

"You're quite right, Mr. Steele. Which is why—"

All three heads turned towards the phone when the intercom buzzed.

"I'm so sorry," Laura apologized, brows furrowing, as she reached to answer it. "Bernice, I thought we made it clear we're not to be interrupted… Did he say why?..." She blew out a short, irritated breath. "Alright, we'll be right there." Hanging up the phone, she sidled down off the corner of Remington's desk. "Mr. Zuehlsdorff, I'm sorry for the interruption, but a member of our staff has an emergent situation. I can assure you we won't be gone more than a couple of minutes."

"By all means," the client acquiesced, as Remington stood.

"What's this all about?" Remington asked, as soon as the door to his office closed behind them.

"I have no idea. Bernice just said Marvin needed to see us in my office right away," she answered, as they crossed their private breakroom and he swung open her office door.

"I didn't think you'd want to miss this," Marvin offered, by way of apology, from where he was kneeling on the floor, each of Olivia's small hands clasped in one of his own. "Alright, Livvie, let's see what you've got… if you don't want to see me fired, that is."

Olivia's face lit up in a smile when she saw her parents across the room, and she clapped her hands in delight. Both her parents watched in awe as she took five, unsteady steps towards them, before plunking down on her diapered bottom. Swallowing hard, Remington dropped down on his knees, to pick up their baby girl and give her a hug before setting her down on her feet again.

"Can you walk to Mommy, Livvie?" Following her husband's lead, Laura stooped down and held out her arms.

"Come here, Livvie. Come to, Mommy," she encouraged, holding out her arms. With a wide smile, Olivia took a half dozen steps, before she wobbled and she found herself in her mother's arms.

Two minutes turned into five, then ten, before Remington and Laura reluctantly turned Olivia back over to Marvin's care, so they could return to the waiting client.

Grabbing Laura's hand as he closed the door behind them, Remington gathered her into his arms, resting his chin atop her head, needing a moment to collect himself.

"Our child's first steps, Laura," he murmured. She nodded her head against his chest, then shifted in his arms, to press her lips against his neck, allowing them to linger there when his arms tightened further around her. Leaning her head back, she lifted her brows at him, and gave him a dimpled smile.

"And she didn't even need to be under video surveillance for you to see them."


	8. November 1988 - 1 year old

_November 1988 – 1 year old_

"You've truly outdone even yourself this time, Mr. Steele," Laura commented, drily. Remington smiled wide, missing altogether her censorious tone.

"Impressive job, even if I do say so myself," he replied, giving himself a mental pat on the back. Her fingers toyed with her throat, and she cocked her head.

"Impressive…" she drew out the word, "…Impressive. No, that's not the word that comes to mind," she corrected, as she watched a clown in full regalia making a balloon giraffe for their one-year-old.

"Well-planned?" he offered. She shook head slowly, as her eyes moved to the bounce house tucked next to the side of the house, its compressor sputtering and wheezing.

"Noooooo," she drew out the word again, as she watched Olivia sink her teeth into the balloon. "Not that either." Then, she was suddenly on the move, striding across the terrace, to fish a piece of rubber out of their child's mouth. She cringed when Olivia let loose an ear piercing screech, expressing her unhappiness at her mother taking her treat from her. Laura pressed a hand to her forehead, praying for patience. Picking up Olivia, she carried her over to where Frances was sitting on the couch with Jocelyn and Bernice by the outdoor fireplace. "Frances, would you mind keeping an eye on Olivia for a minute, while Remington and I prepare her cake?"

"Of course, I will. You know how much I enjoy my time with her, Laura," her older sister reminded her, gladly taking the baby when Laura held her out.

"Giggles, may I speak with you for a moment?" Laura called to the clown.

 _Honk, honk_ , the horn at the clown's waist acknowledged the request. Rolling her eyes, she forced herself to take a slow, deep breath as the clown danced is way in her direction. "Ostentatious, there's a word," she announced. Remington's smile faltered a bit.

"Osten—"

"Giggles, _can_ the balloons. Got it?" she ordered. The clown tilted his head and gave her an exaggerated sad face. "Don't give me that," she scolded. "No balloons and you can stay, maybe even get a decent tip at the end of this… this… fiasco. But one more balloon and you're out. Do you understand me?" The clown nodded his head, then ambled away, shoulders dropping, head down, in an exaggerated display of disappointment. She ground her teeth as she edged her way around a second clown, currently applying full clown makeup to Bernice and Jason's son, Bo "Excessive, there's another word," she ground out.

"Excessive?" he asked, taken aback, looking back over his shoulder at the face painting stand. "It's a circus theme, Laura – something I thought you might appreciate, might I add. And what's a circus without a couple of clowns, hmmmm?"

" _A couple_ , Mr. Steele?" she retorted in disbelief, as she walked past a clown juggling bowling pins, then yet another doing magic tricks.

"Boss, you could show this guy a thing or two about fire eating," Mildred called to him from the other side of the pool. He gave her a weak wave as he watched Laura's head snap in the direction of said fire eater.

"You can't be serious!" Donald exclaim to Mildred.

"I assure you she is, my friend," Monroe answered in Mildred's stead. "Mick enjoyed a bit of a stint with the carny during a bit of wild spell in his youth."

"The fire eater… a _contortionist_ ," Laura threw her arms out in the general direction of where they stood. "Or the strongman and bearded woman?" she indicated the former standing next to a popcorn stand, the latter next to a cotton candy stand. " _The ringmaster giving pony rides_ ," she protested, voice rising an octave. His eyes flickered to the rear yard, where Laurie Beth was happily riding astride said pony.

"Laurie Beth certainly seems appreciative of my efforts," he defended.

"The _characters_ outnumber the children _three-to-one_ , Mr. Steele," she protested, as they stepped inside the house. "I don't even _want_ to know how much junk food those children, including our own, have been plied with this afternoon." She opened the '1' candle as Remington removed the cake from the refrigerator.

"It's Olivia's _first_ birthday, Laura. It only comes along once in a lifetime. It should be _memorable—_ " She barked a laugh at that, drawing his frown.

"Memorable…" she drew out. "It will certainly be that…" A grin lit up his face at what he interpreted as praise. "…as it's the first _and last_ birthday party for Olivia that you'll plan." His face fell, as she stabbed the candle into the cake with more force than was necessary.

"Speaking of excessive," he rejoined, "As I recall, the punishment should fit the crime. Don't you think banning me from planning our child's future celebrations is a bit…" he waved a hand around in emphasis "… _extreme_?" She gave him a look that suggested he'd lost his mind.

"Mr. Steele, there is a _seal_ in our backyard!" She threw up her hands in frustration, then picking up the cake, stomped towards the terrace doors. He bit his tongue before disclosing how difficult it had been to locate said seal and its exorbitant cost, suspecting neither would not play in his favor, although he believed it should do exactly that.

"One that brought Olivia a great deal of enjoyment," he commented with a smile, instead, believing he'd win the point on at least that, until she looked back over her shoulder at him with narrowed eyes. His footsteps floundered, and he rubbed a hand across his mouth. Was a bit of praise, a few stray caresses, a look of adulation after all he'd done too much to ask for? With a shake of his head, he followed her back onto the terrace, taking Olivia from Frances and securing her in her high chair.

"Cake!" Laura screeched towards Mindy, Danny and Laurie breath in the backyard, as he scrunched his eyes closed and grimaced, looking pained.

In short order, the guests had gathered, singing _Happy Birthday_ to Olivia as she clapped with delight at the singing… or perhaps it was that all attention was focused on her.

Olivia was utterly fascinated by the slice of sugary confection placed on the tray of her high chair. She squished, she giggled, she smeared, she licked, she squealed, managing to get a piece into her mouth here and there, although the majority ended up painting her face, hair, arms, hands and dress. Remington, bedazzled by the display, committed the moment to memory and film, determined it would be this place and time next captured by his hand and added to her bedroom wall.

Late that afternoon, after all the guests had departed and the last clown had been dispatched, a tired Olivia toddled up to her father, grabbing a pant leg, as he and Laura cleaned up the remnants of the party. A hand fisted into an eye, told her Da she'd finally wound down from an afternoon of excitement and sugar. Dropping the sponge he'd been using to clean the table, he easily lifted her to lay against his shoulder, a tiny hand clutching his other shoulder, while her head nuzzled into his neck.

"This can wait," he told Laura, taking her by the hand and leading her to a chaise, where she tucked herself into his side, and Olivia snuggled down into the cradle of their bodies with a soft sigh. Laura's fingers played in their daughter's hair, comfortingly, as the baby's heavy lids dropped close.

"A year old," she reflected in wonderment. "Where did the time go?" She lifted her eyes to his.

"I don't know," he answered, quietly, dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose, then nuzzling his cheek against hers. "I only know I'm not quite prepared to see it go." She tipped her head back to look at him.

"See it go?' she asked, puzzled.

"A year gone already, yet it seems only a minute has passed." Her hand left Olivia's hair to caress his jaw.

"Yet you still have a lifetime ahead with her." Capturing her hand in his, he pressed a kiss to a palm as intense blue eyes met her brown ones.

"And with you?"

"You better believe it, buster," she answered with a lift of her brows and a lingering touch of her lips to his. "After all, we still have _at least_ three-and-a-half years to make up for."

"Indeed, we do, Mrs. Steele." He drew her head back down to rest beneath his shoulder, and rested his chin on the top of her head, Olivia nestled, sleeping soundly between them. "Indeed, we do."


	9. December 1988 - 13 months old

_December 1, 1988 – 13 months old_

As a young adult, when Laura had, quite secretly, dreamt of her future family, inevitably those musings had revolved around her most favorite of holidays: Christmas. Specific details of her home, husband, even child, were hazy, but there one vision was always crystal clear: A decorated hearth, a fire burning, and a stunning tree, its lights twinkling, adjacent to but at an angle from the fireplace.

The first year in their new home, those dreams had never even niggled at her memory. The towering tree in their foyer, which stood nearly as tall as their soaring ceilings, had been… perfect. But this year those dreams had resurfaced with more regularity than they'd ever come before.

It was only in wishing to recreate the dream that Laura had happened upon the one and only flaw she'd ever found in their perfect home: there was no way to bring that vision to life. The fireplace in the living room was flanked on either side by custom, built in bookcases, tucked back into what she'd once considered cozy little nooks, while her piano sat at an angle to the left of the fireplace. And at an angle to the right? The doorway between the living room and entry way. Even worse? The arch of their cathedral theory met in the center of the room, meaning the ceiling was at its lowest point on either side of the fireplace.

She watched, forlorn, as her dream fell to ashes and had no choice but to settle for less.

The armchair and small table tucked into the nook on the right of the fireplace, were removed and a tree, much shorter and slimmer than the one in her dreams, was installed in their stead. Perfection it was not, but at least they'd be able to enjoy a cozy fire and the festive tree at the same time, as in her dream.

Compromise complete, the halls had been decked, the tree trimmed, and that evening, after the sun had eased beneath the horizon, she and Remington had stretched out on the floor watching as Olivia, dressed in a pair of footie pajamas, toddled around the tree, transfixed by those twinkling lights and glimmering orbs. Tipsily, she ran from tree to stand before her father.

"Da!" Eyes wide, she patted his cheeks with her tiny hands, then returned to the tree to touch a golden ball, her mouth forming an expressive 'o.' He chuckled low in his throat, his eyes leaving his daughter, to rest on Laura's face.

"I believe she may have inherited your yuletide cheer, love," he observed. She reached out and brushed that stubborn lock of hair back from his forehead.

"I'd like to think so." She gave him a wry look. "Although I suspect it's more your love for shiny objects," she laughed, nodding towards the baby who'd managed to relieve the tree of a gold ball and was clasping it in her hands. His laughter joined her own. "Livvie, may Mommy have that please?" she requested, sitting up and holding out a hand.

Olivia looked from her mother, to the object in her hand, then back at her mother, before heading the opposite direction, unwilling to give up her precious bauble. Remington easily rolled to his other side then to a seated position, a long arm shooting out to snag his daughter around the waist and reel her in as she squealed. Rolling again, he settled her on her feet between he and Laura. Taking the ornament from the baby, Laura held it up by its string, light making the glitter sparkle as it spun, then settled.

"It _is_ pretty, isn't it?" she asked the baby. "Ball. Can you say ball?"

"Ba!" Olivia chortled, her eyes on the prize her Mommy held.

"Very good, Livvie!" Laura praised, then stood and took the baby's hand, returning to the tree. "The _ball_ belongs on the tree," she explained, then stooped down to hang the ball back on a lower branch. "And _you_ ," she laughed as Livvie reached again for the decoration, "Belong in bed," she announced as she picked the baby up and tapped her with a fingertip on the nose.

Olivia wiggled and squirmed, keeping her eyes on the pretty prize until they were halfway up the stairs and the tree could no longer be seen.

* * *

"No, no, Olivia," Laura told the baby. Livvie turned to look at her mother, wide eyed. No was certainly a word the little one understood, and one she rarely appreciated hearing. Lip jutting out, she nevertheless withdrew the hand which had been reaching for an ornament. "That's a good girl, baby," Laura praised. Olivia grinned and toddled over to her where her mother sat on the couch, a file on her lap. Setting aside the file when Olivia raised her arms, Laura lifted her into her lap and wrapped her arms around her daughter. Together they looked at the tree.

"It is beautiful, isn't it?" Laura murmured.

"Breathtaking," Remington agreed, from the other end of the couch, his compliment have nothing, whatsoever, to do with the tree, and having everything to do with woman and child.

* * *

"No, no, Olivia," Laura reprimanded softly, as she removed the ornament from her daughter's hand. "The ball—"

"Ba!"

"Yes, the ball. You're such a smart girl, baby," Laura praised, then resumed her short lecture, "But the ball…" she held it up "Stays on the tree," she reminded, underscoring her point by rehanging the ornament as she spoke.

* * *

From where she stood in the kitchen pouring herself a second cup of coffee, Laura started and her nose crinkled as the unmistakable sound of a fragile glass ornament shattering against the floor reached her ears. Carelessly setting her mug on the counter, the contents sloshing over the side, she hurried into the living room, plucking Olivia off the floor and away from the shards of glass

Her infant daughter reared back and tried to wriggle out of her arms, as Laura carried her towards the dining room where a playpen full of toys awaited. Grasping the rail of the playpen, Olivia let out an ear splitting screech letting her unhappiness be known.

"It's never too early to learn, Livvie," Laura called to her as she retrieved broom and dustpan from the utility closet in the kitchen. "You do the crime, you pay the time."

* * *

Laura sorted lights and darks, as the washing machine filled, listening all the while to the pitter-patter of Olivia's small feet on the wood floors of the living room as she ran around, her giggles trickling through the air. She smiled to herself as she added an assortment of Olivia's clothes along with a few select pieces of her and Remington's washables to the tub full of water, when she heard the front door close, heralding Remington's return from his morning polo match. He and Livvie would soon depart for their Saturday morning routine of a trip to the market and dry cleaners, while she quickly dusted the house then soaked in a hot, sudsy tub.

"Da! Da da!" she could hear their daughter call to him happily from the other room.

"You've had a busy morning, I see, a stór," he replied to their daughter, the laughter, even unseen, clear in his voice. Brows furrowing, Laura joined the twosome in the living room to see what had amused her husband so.

"Livvie…" she bemoaned on an exhale.

On the baby's blanket, spread out on the floor in front of the couch, amongst her shape sorters, teddy bear and blocks, sat an assortment of treasures: nine sparkling glass orbs from the Christmas tree. Seeing the look of despair on Laura's face, Remington couldn't help but laugh again.

"She's _your_ daughter, Mr. Steele," Laura groused at him, half in jest. "Maybe you can make her understand the ornaments belong on the tree."

* * *

On a lazy Saturday afternoon, some two weeks after the tree went up, Remington was in the kitchen preparing a small snack for the family, when he grimaced at the sound of yet another glass ball shattering in the room beyond.

"Oh, Livvie…" he overheard Laura groan.

Wiping off his hands, he retrieved broom and dustpan without being asked. As he turned the corner from kitchen to dining and living room, he watched as Laura delivered an angry Olivia to her playpen before she turned on her heels and marched from the room. Stooping down to clean up the pieces of glass, his brows raised in surprise when he heard the clang of metal against metal as Laura grabbed the keys to her Jeep from the bowl on the entry way credenza.

"Where are you going, love?" he inquired, when she picked up her purse.

"I'll be back in a little while," she answered, vaguely, then seconds later disappeared through the front door.

An hour and a half later, he and Olivia watched from where they were playing on the living room floor, as Laura carefully packed away the remaining glass balls on the bottom third of the tree, replacing each with a glitter covered plastic ball.

"I must say, Laura, I can't remember a time when I've ever seen you surrender to the will of another," Remington mused. Standing, she sat the box of glass ornaments on the mantle to be put away, then joined her husband and child at Olivia's blanket.

"There's a difference between acceptance and surrender," she pointed out, her hand reaching out to stroke Olivia's hair. "If after six years I still haven't managed to fully stop your pursuit of shiny objects, how can I expect to convince _your daughter_ in only six weeks?"

His eyes lit with laughter and a wide smile graced his face.

From that day forward, it became commonplace to listen to the sound of balls bouncing against the hardwood floor, when Olivia's joyous laughter wasn't filling the air as she raced across the room with a shiny ornament, fully believing she'd managed to put one past her parents.


	10. December 25, 1988 - 13 months old

_December 25, 1988 – 13 ¾ months old_

Christmas morning, Remington and Laura sat together on the couch in the living room, still adorned in pajamas and robe, she snuggled into his side, head resting against his shoulder, he with an arm around her. On the floor in front of the tree, Olivia sat in an empty box, squealing with laughter as she furiously waved a long strip of wrapping paper in front of her, delighting in the sound it made. Around the living room, a small, careful selection of toys lay untouched, much to his dismay, as Olivia seemed to believe her gifts from 'Santa' were the boxes, bows and paper with which she'd been playing for well on an hour now..

"Really, Laura, I'd have been better off simply wrapping a passel of empty boxes," he lamented. She patted her hand against his chest, laughing softly.

"Think of it as a reminder, Mr. Steele," she advised.

"Of what, exactly? The fickle nature of children?" She tipped back her head to look at him.

"That it's the simple things in life which are often the greatest of gifts," she offered, sagely.

Tearing his eyes away from their child, he studied the woman before him intently, mulling her words for little more than two blinks of an eye, before he nodded slowly in agreement. After all, how could he not? Of all the gifts he'd received throughout his life, it was this – his wife, his daughter, _their family_ – which were the greatest gifts of them all. Shifting where he sat, he turned to cup Laura's cheeks in his hands.

"Indeed, _they are_ ," he concurred, drawing her lips to his, kissing her softly, allowing his lips to linger for long seconds drawing her back into his side and nuzzled his cheek against the side of her head. "Happy Christmas, Mrs. Steele."

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Steele," she returned, stroking his arm with her hand then tangling their fingers together.

They settled in, and watch contentedly, as Livvie laughed, babbled and cheered, whilst enjoying the simplest of things.


	11. December 1988 - Almost 14 months old

_December 1988 – 13 months old_

December 1985 had, quite unintentionally, marked the start of a future Steele family tradition: The day after Christmas, the Steele's and Henderson's would pack up and travel to Vail, where they would spend three days at Laura and Remington's home there, schussing the slopes and simply relaxing. This would become a tradition that would last throughout the childhoods of all the Steele children.

And, in 1988, the year Olivia had turned one, that Steele tradition took on a second arm: When the Henderson's departed for the airport on the morning of the thirtieth, the Pipers would arrive in the afternoon. Thus, came an end to a tradition of Laura and Remington's own: their attendance at the Crockett family New Year's Eve gala, where, with carefully planned networking, many a new client had been finessed. But, during the early years of Olivia, then Sophie and Holt's, childhoods, it had somehow seemed more important to welcome the New Year surrounded by family.

Although there were decisions the Steele's would regret – past and future – the creation of these traditions would never be one. If they ever needed a reminder why, all they had to do was to look back at Olivia's second trip to their mountain home.

"It's snowing!" eight-year-old Laurie Beth announced, positively entranced by the cool white flakes drifting slowly downward from the sky. While snow had covered Vail and its surrounding peaks when the Pipers had arrived the day prior, it was this day that marked the first snowfall. Although Laurie Beth had been born in Connecticut, she'd only been five when the Piper clan had moved to LA, and this was the first snowfall she'd seen in the three years since. "Uncle Remington, Aunt Laura, can I go play outside? Pleaseeeeeeeeeeee?" she begged.

Remington, standing at the kitchen island where he was preparing lunch, exchanged a look with Laura where she sat on the couch with Olivia on her lap, reading a book to their little one. Donald and Frances were on the slopes, along with Danny and Mindy, leaving the decision solely up to them. Her nearly imperceptible shrug of a shoulder was all the answer he needed, and setting down his chef's knife, he wiped his hands on a towel.

"Go bundle up, ceann beag, while Aunt Laura and I get Olivia dressed," he instructed his niece then watched as she scampered up the stairs.

When the foursome trudged outside, the late morning sun glistened off the surface of the already snow covered landscape, as their feet crunched through the frozen top layer of the ice covering the packed snow beneath. A good-natured snowball sailing towards Remington, started a playful snowball fight between he and his niece while Laura set Olivia on her feet, then stooped down behind her to aid the toddler with her balance on the slick surface.

Olivia bent at her waist and tentatively poked at the whitened ground several times before turning her head to look at her mother for guidance.

"It's alright, Livvie," Laura quietly assured. "it's snow," she informed the baby, enunciating the word snow.

Picking up a handful in her gloved hand, she held it out for Olivia to inspect, then turned her hand over, sprinkling it back to the ground. The baby's tiny mouth rounded as she watched the powder fall, so Laura repeated the action, before placing a pile in Livvie's mittened hand. It wasn't long before she dropped to her snowsuit covered bottom to pick up handfuls of the icy curiosity, tossing it in the air, her laughter catching her father's attention. He watched, positively bewitched by the sight his child's blue eyes lit with wonder, the smile of excitement on her face.

Momentarily spellbound, he forgot the game afoot until a snowball landed squarely between his shoulders. Spinning around, he leveled a fierce frown on Laurie Beth who slapped a pair of hands over her mouth, her eyes widened in half-mirth, half-worry he was truly upset with her.

"You do realize, ceann beag, the price one must pay for taking aim at a man unarmed, do you not?" Eyes widening further, Laurie Beth shook her head in answer, as he crept towards her. "A sound snow dunking should the offender be caught." With a shriek, Laurie Beth turned on her heels and ran, he in pursuit.

Late morning gave way to early afternoon, when Laura perched a fedora on top of a snowman's head with a flourish, then stepped back to give their creation a jaunty, two finger salute.

"Aunt Laura, will you make snow angels with me?" her niece requested. Nibbling at her lower lip, Laura looked to a drowsy and undoubtedly chilled Olivia who was currently resting in her father's arms with her head upon his shoulder.

"Just one," she answered, firmly. "Your cousin has been outside long enough."

"Okay," Laurie Beth agreed.

"Should we go together?" Laura suggested, taking her niece's hand in hers and walking with her towards a relatively pristine swatch of snow.

"Yes," the little girl answered, elongating the word. "My mommy never makes angels with me." Laura snorted softly. No, Frances was far too uptight to fall into then roll about in the snow. It was still a wonderment to her that Donald had ever convinced Frances to join him on the slopes, given her older siste saw snowsuits as nothing more than proper mountain wear. A wicked smile lifted her lips, as she looked down at her niece. "That's because your mother is much, much older than I." She winked at Laurie Beth. "And you can tell her I said so," she smiled, imaging the look on Frances's face should Laurie Beth do so. She nudged Laurie Beth to turn her back to the clean snow. "On three. One… Two… Three…"

Amongst a great deal of shared laughter, aunt and niece, flapped their arms and legs in the snow. Seeing this, Olivia began to squirm in her father's arms, pushing away from him, making it clear she wished to be put down. He chuckled low in his throat, as he lowered her feet to the ground.

"Forever afraid you might miss something, hmmmm, a stór?" he asked with amusement, as she toddled away towards her mother and cousin.

Laura's hands and legs slowed as the baby made her way up to her, then simply climbed atop Laura and lay down, finding her mouth with two fingers. Laura automatically wrapped an arm around the baby, while turning to look at Remington.

"I think someone is telling us she's ready for a nap." Swallowing the lump in his throat which had formed at watching the moment unfold, he nodded slowly in answer, then went to retrieve their daughter and to help Laura to her feet.

As they went inside to prepare their little once for her nap, the baby reached out toward the closing door.

"No…" Livvie whined around a pair of fingers, not wishing to return inside, even as her eyelids hung at half mast and her head lay heavily on her Da's shoulder.

"The snow will be there later, baby," Laura assured her, reaching up to caress her cheek.

It was a day both Remington and Laura knew they'd remember the rest of their lives.

That evening, Remington committed to paper the image of Olivia lying on top of Laura, a sculpting of an angel carved around them. It was to be the next drawing to be hung on Olivia's nursery wall, and was simply entitled "No."


	12. March 1989 - 16 months old

_March 1989 – 16 months old_

Laura jumped and Remington nearly tripped over his own two feet when Olivia let out a piercing scream, before lurching to her feet and toddling across the office nursery floor as fast as her chubby little legs would allow. She grabbed at her father's pants, that scream becoming hysterical, broken wails, accompanied by tears streaming down her face. Snatching her up into his embrace, he gave Laura a look that clearly questioned what was going on with their child, who was now frantically clutching at his shirt and neck.

"Don't look at me," she answered with an exaggerated shrug. "I have no idea." She stepped up to the pair and lay a palm against the baby's head. "She doesn't have a fever." He mentally reviewed all the childhood traumas they'd already overcome.

"Teeth?" he asked as he bounce-walked the floor, stroking their little one's back.

"She didn't act like this when any of her other teeth came in," she reminded.

"Ear infection?" he tried again, as Olivia's wails, quieted down into exhausted hiccups.

"No fever like the last one."

"Stomach ache?" he asked, sitting down in his chair, patting and rubbing the baby's back.

"She hasn't had anything out of the ordinary to eat, but I suppose it could be." He nodded his head, then gave her a pained look.

"Laura—" She held up her hand, stopping him.

"You don't have to say it, Mr. Steele. I'm no more comfortable leaving her than you are. I'll have Bernice order us something in and we'll just eat here."

Thus, they watched the promise of their weekly lunch date vanish.

* * *

"She seems fine," Laura observed, as she lay the baby in her crib for bed that evening.

"Perhaps nothing more than a stomach ache, after all," he concurred, leaning over the rails to buss his small daughter on the forehead as her eyes drooped heavily. Laura looked about the room, not finding whatever it was she was seeking, then popped a palm against her forehead.

"Her bear. It's downstairs on the couch. I'll be right back."

Remington stood next to the crib, watching as Olivia drifted, marveling, by no means for the first time, at the sheer perfection he and Laura had managed to create. He thick, glossy, raven hair; her expressive blue eyes, almost always sparkling with happiness; her perfect little bow tie mouth; her chubby little legs; her tiny little hands. He already had to work hard to recall life was like without their little girl, and new with absolute certainty, the days ahead were all the richer because of her.

"Here we go," Laura announced on return to the nursery. Leaning over the rail, she lay the bear next to the baby, then pressed a kiss to her fingertips and lay them against her child's lips. Olivia's lips twitched with a smile, her eyes opening half-mast, then closing again.

Wrapping an arm around his wife's waist, the couple made their way to the door, she reaching for the light switch to turn it off. They'd no sooner stepped outside the room, than a screech bounced off the upstairs walls, leaving Laura's spine straightening and Remington grabbing dramatically at his chest. They turned in unison to watch Olivia scramble to her feet, chest heaving, wails continuing, as she raised her arms, waggling her fingers frantically. Without thought, Remington strode back into the room to embrace her in his arms, while Laura watched with puzzlement on her face.

"I don't get it. She's been _fine_ since this afternoon!"

"I don't know. I don't know," he mumbled, as he bounced the baby against his shoulder, she clutching the skin of his neck in one little fist, his shirt in another, as she continued her heaving sobs. Backing up, he settled them into the rocking chair, and focused on soothing their little girl.

* * *

"We should have everything wrapped up in two, three hours _tops_ ," Laura told Mildred and Bernice, cutting her hand across the air, in emphasis, while she and Remington stood poised near the Agency doors, ready to depart.

"Get outta here, kids,' Mildred ordered. She grinned at Olivia, who was perched on her hip, all smiles. "Olivia will be fine. She needs some Aunty Mildred time, anyway, and, to tell the truth, I could use a little fix myself."

With a sharp nod of her head, Laura turned towards the door, Remington at her heel, his hand at the small of her back as he opened the door for her to proceed him. They'd no sooner turned the corner, than Olivia's frantic screams shattered the air. Automatically, he turned on his heel to return to the office, only to find Laura's hand grasping his upper arm, to turn him around again.

"The elevator, Mr. Steele. We have a case to solve," she reminded him, firmly. He dragged his feet, looking over his shoulder, back towards the office.

"But, Laura, Liv—"

"Olivia will be _just fine_ ," she insisted. "Mildred dotes on her as much as you, and will be the first to sound the alarm if she believes something's wrong."

"But—"

"The _case, Mr. Steele_ ," she insisted, her tone brooking no argument.

With a sulk to rival one of Olivia's own, he stepped into the elevator. As the Porsche, with Laura at the wheel, flew past other vehicles on the freeway, he rested his chin on knuckled fist and stared out at the passing vista, seeing nothing, his thoughts firmly upon the daughter they'd left distressed. By the time they stepped out of the bank, where they'd been interviewing a suspect, she'd had enough, stomping to the car well ahead of him as she fumed.

"For God's sake," Laura swore.

He'd been… useless… during the questioning, only deigning to offer an occasional distracted, 'yes, what she said' to the conversation every now and then. In her mind, they'd seemed a pair of bumbling-wanna-be detectives instead of the smart, intuitive team they were. When he finally climbed into the passenger seat, she snatched up the handset to the car phone, almost violently, dialed a number, then thrust it in his direction. Confused, he nonetheless held the receiver to his ear.

"The Remington Steele Agency. Bernice Hawke speaking. How may I help you?"

"Mrs. Wolf, might I have a word with Mildred?" he requested, as understanding dawned. In short order, Mildred picked up the phone in her office.

"Oh, hey Boss. Did you and the missus wrap things up so soon?" He glanced at said wife, who stared straight ahead, face pinched with anger, her arms crossed in front of herself.

"Not quite yet. How is Olivia?"

"Sleeping soundly," she answered easily.

"All's well then?"

"Aw, she calmed down after a few minutes. Nothing to worry about here," Mildred replied.

Reassured, he disconnected the call then spent the next twenty-five minutes listening to Laura rasp in his ear.

* * *

"Separation anxiety," Laura announced when Remington returned home that evening. Having declared 'enough is enough' after his distracted performance that afternoon, she'd made an emergency appointment at the pediatrician.

"Separation anxiety?" he called back to Laura as he strode into their office to retrieve the baby books he'd collected during Laura's pregnancy. "Is there a remedy?" he asked, as he reentered the living room.

"Bedtime routines, reassurances, finding ways to make her secure before departures," she ticked off. "Normal for her age, apparently. It can last another eight—"

"Days?" His shoulders sagged with relief. "Well, surely we can tough out eight—"

" _Months,"_ she cut him off. His back straightened and he cast disbelieving eyes on her, before turning to the first book and seeking the index.

"You must have heard wrong," he refuted. "A man can't be expected to listen to…" he waived his hand in a circle "…that for months on end, and maintain his sanity. Not to mention what the babe's going through."

"Glad to see you're considering my own peace of mind…" she mused, drily. He flicked a hand in her direction.

"Don't be silly, Laura, of course I am. Ah, here," he stood fully erect, skimming the entry, before his face fell. "Shall I make us a reservation at the Bates Motel now or in a few days?" he inquired, resignedly.

"The—What are you _talking_ about?"

"'We all go a little mad sometimes,'" he replied, as though she should understand without further explanation.

"I'm beginning to think you already have, Mr. Steele," she retorted with a frown.

" _Psycho._ Anthony Perkins, Janet Leigh, Paramount, 1960."

"Oh, for God's sake," she groused, throwing her hands up in the air, then sitting down on the floor to play with Livvie.

* * *

Eleven days later, Laura stood in the nursery doorway, staring at Remington as he finished changing Olivia's diaper in preparation for going to bed. Despite having used every suggestion made by the pediatrician, having tried the tricks recommended in Remington's books, each separation, no matter how brief, was met by Olivia's hysterical cries, a healthy dose of guilt for him, and a great deal of frustration for Laura. Any day now, she knew, he'd be suggesting they bring the baby along on cases, not to mention client meetings. Then, that evening, an idea had percolated, then steeped.

Taking the baby from him, she turned to him and asked…

"Can you get Olivia's blanket for me? It's on our bed, with the clean laundry."

"Of course," he readily agreed, stepping out of the nursery to do his wife's bidding. When he returned, he handed it to her and she, in turn, covered Olivia. She groaned allow.

"Would you mind getting her bear? We forgot it downstairs again."

"Pleasure," he agreed again, disappearing from the room.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of the room. _One… two… three… ten"_ She stepped back into the room, where he found her leaning over the crib. Teddy bear in place, she pressed her fingers to her lips, then touched them to the baby's lips.

"Sweet dreams, baby," she whispered, before stepping aside so Remington could say his goodnights as well.

When he turned around, Laura was gone. Turning off the nursery light, he stepped from the room to go in search of her. Olivia's piercing screams had his feet stilling and a hand reaching up to rake fingers through his hair as he groaned in dismay. He stepped back into the bedroom and picked up his distressed infant daughter.

"It's you," Laura announced from the doorway. The comment earned her a raised brow.

" _What's_ me?"

"You can leave the room as long as I'm with her. _I_ can leave the room as long as you're with her. We can _both_ leave the room, as long as you leave first. But if you leave the room with me, or by yourself…" she nodded towards the baby clutching at him, letting the proof speak for itself.

* * *

The thought that he was the root of their infant daughter's angst deeply troubled Remington. Arm slung over his eyes, long after he'd joined Laura in bed, he continued to masticate the thought, as Laura waited him out while lazily stroking his side. It was one thing for them to share the blame, quite another…

He heaved a long sigh and dropped his arm from his eyes.

"I know I once said I wished for a daughter exactly like you, Laura. But, honestly, couldn't you have done something to make certain your belief you'll one day wake and find me gone was not passed on to our child?" She laughed quietly, then, tilting her head back to look at his face, threaded her fingers through his hair.

"I think you might want to look at this from a… different… perspective," she suggested. He glanced down at her through his lashes, unconvinced.

"Oh? There's another way to look at your child fearing you'll disappear on her, quite permanently?" She cupped his cheek in her hand, fighting off a bemused smile.

"I don't think that is the case at all," she countered. "If anything, it's that we love you so much, we want to keep you with us always." He stared at her for a long count, before swallowing hard and bussing her on the forehead.

" _That_ I can live with."

* * *

For three months, Remington and Laura adjusted: Whenever they were to depart Olivia's presence, he'd leave first, then a couple short minutes later she would follow. This plan was effective ninety-percent of the time. And when it wasn't?

He sulked.

Because the case awaited no man, when Laura Holt Steele was on it.


	13. June 1989 - 19 months old

_June 1989 – 19 months old_

"Good Lord, Laura," Remington panted, as he slid to a stop – thanks to socked feet on a marble floor - and swooped their active, and now laughing, toddler up into his arms, "Livvie may well kill, or at the very minimum maim, one of us before we depart." Laura pressed a hand over her mouth, suppressing her laughter, although her eyes still sparkled with mirth.

"Maybe castles and children don't mix," she suggested, valiantly managing to keep another round of laughter from bubbling past her lips.

"Down… down…" the baby demanded insistently, then let her body fall lax, nearly making her father tumble over under her sudden and unexpected dead weight in his arms. Sitting her on her feet, he pointed her in the direction of the master suite. They turned and followed behind Olivia as she disappeared into their room, her laughter echoing off ceilings and walls.

"You can't be serious," he protested. "Need I remind you this is one of the properties attached to my entitlement? It's our responsibility… No, _our duty_ … as the Earl and Countess of Claridge to assess our holdings at least once annually to assure our assets are being maintained as they should be." She was rolling her eyes before he finished.

"I'm sure this… _dedication_ … to overseeing our… holdings, has nothing, _whatsoever_ to do with a certain phrase?" she asked, drily, as they entered their room and found Olivia standing on a chair, lunging backwards to lift the feet off the floor.

"Livvie!" He grabbed for the baby in the nick of time, the chair toppling over and banging against the floor. He stooped down so their eyes were on the same level. "No climbing on chairs, mo stór," he reminded, in a grave voice.

"No," she repeated back.

"That's correct. No climbing. Now, off with you, and play with your toys."

"Toes!" she repeated happily, if imperfectly, and ran across the bedroom towards her blocks and shape sorters.

"Don't be absurd, Laura. Ashford Castle generates a bit of income to add to our accounts and..."

"Your ego gets a healthy stroking," she cut in, then added with a snooty air, " _My Lordship_." A goofy half-grin spread across his face, and shoving his hands into his pockets, he shifted from foot-to-foot, earning him another eye roll, plus a dismissive wave of her hand. "Olivia Elena Steele!" she called out in her no nonsense Mommy voice. Olivia's blue eyes darted to her mother, then she backed away from the vanity bench she'd started to climb.

"Such music from your lips to my ears," he responded, as though they'd never stopped speaking. He stepped to her and fingered a lock of her hair, while gazing down at her with a hopeful look. "Do you think that tonight… we might… _reprise_ a certain role?" he hummed.

"May—"

"Hold that thought!" he interrupted, bolting across the room to where Olivia was clinging to fistfuls of the duvet, as she tried to climb up onto their raised bed. Plucking her away from the bed, he sat her on the floor and pointed the objects in front of her. "Toys." With a grin, Olivia picked up a red square.

"Bock!" she declared, proudly.

"Block. Yes, it is," he agreed. Olivia grinned at him and picked up a yellow block, to bang the two together. He returned to Laura, recapturing that lock of her hair between his fingers. "You were saying."

"I was saying," she drew a splayed hand over his shoulder, then down his chest, before lifting a pair of sultry brown eyes to his, "I believe that could be arranged…" she drawled. Releasing her hair, he wrapped his arms around her.

"Ah, Laura, you fulfill my every fantasy," he murmured, before covering her lips with his. He tore his lips away when his eye caught a little black blur passing his line of vision. Shoving away from Laura, he spun towards the door.

"Livvie! Liv—" His words ended as a thud sounded in the hall. "Ahhhhh," he moaned. Laura stepped into the hall, just as he lifted his head up from off the floor where he'd landed when his stockinged feet had slipped out from under him. With another moan and a rub at his head for his traitorous wife, who stood peering down at him whilst laughing, he tried to garner a bit of sympathy. That ploy would prove to be costly.

"Da!" their little raven-haired girl cried out gleefully, running away from the staircase and to him, throwing herself at his stomach when she reached him.

"Oomph," he exhaled a harsh breath, as his hand grabbed for his daughter before she could repeat the action. "Ohhhhhhhh," he groaned. His head lolled to the side and he looked up at Laura. "Perhaps tomorrow night…."


	14. December 1989 - 2 years old

_December 1989 – 2 years old_

Olivia crouched in front of the tree, her bright blue eyes wide in wonder, her mouth forming a little 'o.' She turned her tousled head to look at her parents, who, garbed in their robes, were seated behind her on the floor, smiles lighting their face.

"Santa must have thought someone was a very, very good girl this year," Laura noted, casting a sidelong glance at her husband, as Olivia duckwalked to the other side of the tree, to examine the festively wrapped packages there.

"I promise you, Laura, I kept our agreement," he vowed in protest. "This… depravity…" he waved a hand at the dozens of presents beneath the tree for their daughter, "Is by the hand of our family and friends, not my own."

It was the truth. He'd purchased only a few, carefully selected presents for their daughter in keeping with Laura's stance the baby would not be spoiled. Instead, presents for Olivia had arrived from Murphy and Sherri, Marcos and Elena, Zeth and Calista, Christos and Helena, Melina, Brandon, Zach, and Abigail – who was staying East this Christmas. And there would be more, undoubtedly, arriving that evening when they hosted a Christmas dinner for his father and Catherine, the Pipers, Hawkes, Mildred, Veronica and Maxie.

"Relax, Mr. Steele, you're not on the hook for this one," she assured, patting his leg. "Unless, of course, there's something beneath that tree completely unsuitable for a two-year-old." He swallowed hard, and knew a bit of panic as a tiny platinum bracelet with a bear charm lying in wait for their daughter came to mind. He could only pray she'd mistake the platinum for sterling silver, the bear's blue eyes for pieces of glass, rather than the sapphires they were. Perhaps, if they got the present unwrapping underway, she'd be too distracted by the rest of the treasure trove to notice. He moved to sit next to the tree, withdrawing one of the presents earmarked as from Santa.

"Come here, mo stór," he encouraged. Olivia stopped poking with curiosity at the packages and happily complied, plopping gracelessly down into her father's lap then looking up at him with adoring eyes. His heart flip-flopped in his chest, in a way only his child and her mother could make it do. "Let's see what we have here, hmmmmm?" he suggested, tearing open a corner, to give her a place to begin.

With all the concentration a two-year-old can muster, she carefully peeled back the wrapping paper, much in the manner her mother might do.

"I may have wished for a daughter just like her mother," he began, ruefully, in what would become an ongoing mantra over the years, "But I wish I had thought to qualify 'except in the manner with which she opens a present'." She laughed merrily behind him, drawing his pleased smile to fall upon her.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," Livvie breathed in awe. "A dolly. Look, Da! A dolly!" Not awaiting an answer from him, she stood up and ran to her mother. "A dolly, Mommy, she announced, as she plopped down on the floor next to Laura.

"So I see."

"Open, Mommy, open. _Pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeee_." Livvie had learned in past weeks, that particular word, said in a particular way, was guaranteed to win whatever it was she wanted, unless it was against one of her parent's rules. It wouldn't get her a soda, which both parents were against, but it would get her a fruit popsicle; It wouldn't get her out of nap, but it would allow her to nap with her parents in the hammock. Not that she could have put that understanding into words yet. She only knew, more often than not, that 'please' worked, so it couldn't hurt to try it every time.

This time it worked, and Laura removed the doll from the confines of the box, then removed twist ties and tabs to free the doll from its cardboard coffin. By the time she was done, Livvie was dancing excitedly next to her and holding out her arms, cradling the doll as soon Laura presented it to her.

"Prettyyyyyyyyyyyyyy," the little girl drew out the word in appreciation.

"She is, isn't she?" Laura asked, brushing back her daughter's hair from her eyes, fondly. "And look, Livvie, she has big blue eyes, just like yours," she tapped the doll on the nose, "And black hair like your own." The toddler smiled at her mother, then stroked the jeweled tiara affixed to the top of the doll's head with a reverent hand.

"Prettyyyyyyyyyyyyy," she repeated her prior assessment. Laura feigned a forlorn sigh, that drew a questioning look from her husband.

"And _I forgot_ to qualify that she not get _that_ from _you_."

Remington's laughter filled the room.

* * *

That evening, as Remington held a sleepy Olivia in one arm and Laura stroked her back, they saw their guests out, apologizing several times that the gift they'd brought the baby remained unwrapped and under the tree.

"Aw, it's okay, kids," Mildred reassured. "She's two. You never know what to expect at that age. Why I remember when Bernard was little…"

Not knowing what to expect? Flabbergasted seemed the better description when, three days later, Olivia still had only eyes for that doll, expressing no interest in the presents, whatsoever. So, sitting down in front of the tree on the third night with a trash bag near at hand, Laura began to systematically unwrap the gifts, while Remington and Livvie prepared dinner in the kitchen.

"Livvie, come see the doll carriage Auntie Mildred brought you!" Laura called out, only for Livvie to remain, disinterested, in the kitchen.

"Olivia, Laurie Beth gave you crayons and coloring books. Do you want to color with me?"

"No," a tiny voice piped up in the kitchen. With a sigh, Laura continued unwrapping and stacking.

"Baby, Grandad and Grans gave you a cradle for your doll," she tried again. "Maybe she'd like a nap?"

"No," that same little voice answered. "Me and her are cookin'." With a roll of her eyes, she reached for the next gift.

"Livvie, come see the pretty bracelet Santa brought you," Laura called out again. "And tell your Da he and I will have to have a _little_ _talk_ if this is platinum and sapphires as I suspect it is."

Remington's groan of dismay reached her ears at the same time their daughter did her side.

"Prettyyyyyyyyyyy," Livvie announced, her finger reaching out to touch the sapphire eyes.

What else could Laura do but laugh, as she hooked the bracelet around her daughter's wrist. Livvie was her father's daughter, after all. Neither required many material possessions, but neither could resist shiny objects.


	15. January 1990 - 2 Years, 2 months

_January 3, 1990 – 2 years, 2 months_

"Daaaaaaaaaaaaa! Da!" Olivia called to her father through the baby monitor.

In the master across the hall, Remington pried open grainy, reddened eyes, and with a groan, rolled over to consider the ceiling while vigorously rubbing his face, trying to wake. He and Laura hadn't gotten in from their stakeout until a few hours ago, and even now, she slept blissfully beside him while Mildred, who'd volunteered to stay with Olivia, did the same down the hall.

"Da-da-da-da-da! Up!" Livvie called again.

"Coming, coming," he muttered to himself, as he sat up and reached for his robe. With a stretch of his jaw and a pull of his hands through his hair to make it semi-presentable, he stood and pulled the robe on, then padded across the hallway to his toddler daughter's room.

"Maidin mhaith, a stór," he called to her as part of their morning ritual, "Cad iad na rudaí nua—" His greeting ended midsentence with a "What in the bloody hell," when his bare foot landed on something soft…

… and squishy…

… and shockingly warm.

He braced himself, then looked down with dread to see what it was he'd stepped upon.

"Oh… uh… Ah, no," he protested, with a great deal of disgust as he lifted his foot from the center of the soiled diaper, holding it aloft as he lifted his head to peer into the crib. "Ahhhh, no," he groaned, as he observed his proud, bare-bottomed daughter… the wet and soiled bedding in her crib.

"Ewwwwwww," Livvie observed, pointing to the diaper.

"Yes, 'ew'," he enunciated the word, "would be an apt description."

"No diapey," she announced, jumping up and down in the crib.

"Yes, that much is vividly clear."

He eyed the mess in the crib, the child that needed to be bathed, and the foot still in the air. Well, it was one thing to spend a day sleep-deprived, quite willingly. But this?

"Lauraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" he yelled, grasping the crib rail to keep from teetering over.

In the bedroom, Laura rolled out of the bed, grabbing her robe and slipping it on as she quickly crossed the hall into the nursery. She took in the scene – naked toddler, soiled crib, husband with foot in the air, diaper on the floor…

And giggled. _Oh, if only his adoring fans could see him now._

"You bellowed?" she managed around her laughter. He turned his head and gave her a quelling look.

"If you can get your amusement – at my expense, I might add – under control, I could use a spot of help here."

"It seems to me," she answered, her mirth continuing to bubble over, "You have a foot up on the situation."

Mildred, having heard Remington yelling, stumbled to a stop behind Laura as she cinched the belt on her robe tight. Her observant eyes quickly scanned the room, and her laughter joined Laura's.

"Really put a foot into it this time, didn't you, Boss?" He heaved an aggravated sigh, and his shoulders slumped.

"Et tu, Mildred? I'd expect as much from my traitorous wife, but you?"

"Aw, Boss, I know your day hasn't started out on the right foot," next to her Laura snorted, then laughed all the louder, "but don't worry. The day'll get better and you'll find your footing." Laura howled and Olivia joined in, clapping and laughing, mimicking the other two women while drawing her father's eyes to her.

"Ah, Livvie, a veritable knife through the heart," he told his daughter, dramatically.

"I don't know what you're so upset about…" Laura began, speaking around her laughter.

"I'll go start Livvie a bath," Mildred volunteered, then left the room, her own laughter following her down the hall.

"Those books of yours said when she's ready to get her feet wet," he groaned aloud at this, "With potty training, she'd start removing her own diaper," she reminded. Taking pity on him, she grabbed several wipes from the changing table and handed them to him.

"That they did," he confirmed, reaching down to clean his foot, "But they never made mention of…" he waved a hand full of wipes between his foot and the bed, "… _this_."

"I suggested months ago that we begin potty training her…" she reminded, airily, as she reached into the crib to pick up Olivia.

"Yes, well, the evidence would suggest she's now ready," he noted, ruefully.

"I hope you're ready for it," she commented, as she reached into the crib and pulled up the ends of the fitted sheet. "I remember when Frances was potty training Mindy. It'll really keep you on your toes, and it's crucial you get off on the right foot with it."

"Lau-ra," he groaned his disdain, suspecting even now he'd have to endure any number of foot idioms at both home and the office for some time to come.

"In fact, before it's over," she added, as she walked towards the nursery door with Olivia in one arm, a pile of roled up bedding in the other hand, "You may long to return to those days when you were foot loose and fancy free." She smirked at him over her shoulder, then left the room, his obligatory moan following her.

A smile lifted his lips.

 _Not on your life, Mrs. Steele._


	16. January 1990 - 2 years, nearly 3 months

_January 1990 – 2 years, 2 months old_

"Wook, Mommy, wook," Olivia called excitedly, as she teetered under the weight and size of the box she was carrying, Remington following right behind her, prepared to pick up child or package… or both.

"What do you have there, Livvie Bee?" Laura asked from where she sat on the couch.

It had become tradition, these last two years, to take a four-day weekend at their house in Vail for her birthday. Quiet time, for just the three of them, whereas the days directly after Christmas were dedicated to spending time with friends and family.

Remington had outdone himself, preparing some of her favorite foods for dinner: A crisp salad of greens followed by a decadent filet mignon rubbed with the perfect blend of seasonings, steamed asparagus, rosemary potatoes and, for dessert, a chocolate raspberry cake that has been pure bliss. Stuffed to the gills, the 'party' had moved to the living room where a roaring fire warmed the room, and the town of Vail, lit in the valley below, could be seen through the glass wall.

Livvie's lip quivered when her hands lost grip of the package, and the wrappings could be heard tearing as it fell to the floor only a few feet from her mother.

"Nothing hurt, a stór," her father reassured her, picking up the box and handing it back to her. She happily made the last few steps to her mother and plopped the box in her lap, then wiggled her way up onto the couch to sit next to her.

"For me?" Laura asked, exaggerating each word, as she stroked her daughter's hair. A pair of stunning blue eyes, so much like her father's, sparkled with joy when they looked up at her mother.

"Open, Mommy, open," she insisted. Olivia danced around on her knees in anticipation as Laura carefully unwrapped the box and lifted the lid.

"Oh, Livvie. It's _exactly_ what I most wanted," she praised, as she lifted a new, leather attaché bag from the box. Her eyes flitted to Remington as she ran a hand over the quality leather. "Thank you, baby." She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her daughter's cheek, then wrapped her in her embrace when Olivia's small arms circled her neck in a hug.

"You've one more," Remington announced, as he sat next to her side, opposite Olivia. Setting the box and bag on the table, she accepted the proffered rectangular package.

"Open, Mommy, open," Olivia urged again.

"If you insist," Laura laughed, her fingers already carefully sliding beneath the tape. She folded away the still intact paper, and drew in a breath as her finger traced the image in the drawing. He'd captured Olivia squatting beneath the Christmas tree, her eyes alight with fascination, in impeccable detail. "It's beautiful," she complimented him. "The perfect addition to her nursery room wall." Turning her head, she bestowed him with an open-eyed kiss, allowed her lips to linger long enough to hint at her ever-present desire for him. His lips twitched upwards into a smile when the kiss ended. "Thank you." He cupped her cheek in his palm and soft blue eyes settled on her face.

"Pleasure."

Setting the portrait on the coffee table before them, Laura waited as Remington shifted in his seat and propped his feet on the table, then tucked herself against him.

"Pat cake, Mommy?" Livvie asked, hopefully, as she climbed over Laura to sit on Remington's lap. Their daughter's smile lit the room, as her mother happily complied.

"Pat a cake, pat a cake, baker's man _…"_ Laura chanted, as she guided Livvie through the motions. The toddler's excited laughter surrounded her parents as the nursery rhyme concluded.

"Pider, Mommy, pease!"

"The itsy, bitsy spider crawled up the water spout…" Laura sang, while performing the accompanying hand motions.

That evening, after Olivia had gone to bed, the couple settled back on the couch together, to watch the snow fall on the valley below.

"What did you wish for? Hmmm?" he asked quietly. She gave a shrug of her shoulder, and a shake of her head.

"I didn't." His brows shot up in surprise at the answer.

"You didn't? Doesn't tradition demand otherwise?" She nuzzled her head against his shoulder, and caressed the hand lying on her waist.

"I already have everything I could possibly want. You, Olivia, the Agency." She shifted in his embrace, and draping a leg over his, leaned her head back to look up at him. "I said, 'thank you'." He drew in a sharp breath at her admission as his heart flip-flopped in his chest. More than seven years after they'd first met, nearly three since they'd been wed, and the woman still made him feel the besotted teenager at times.

"I think it's I who has everything to be thankful for," he corrected, gruffly, in the moments before his lips covered hers.

That night, as she fell asleep in her husband's arms, bare flesh pressed to bare flesh, his warm breath heating her neck, she said a silent thank you one final time.


	17. March 1990 - 2 years, 4 months

_March 1990 – 2 years, 4 months old_

Remington sat at his easel, pencil in hand, his eyes moving from a place in front of him to paper, then back again, as solid, assured lines brought the portrait before him to life. Before him, Laura and Olivia stood at the barre, as Laura worked out and their child attempted to mimic her movements. At the beginning of February, Laura had enrolled the toddler in dance classes, and while Livvie showed a tepid interest in the classes, she enthusiastically looked forward to her time spent in their studio.

"Very good, Livvie Bee," Laura praised, as Livvie executed some semblance of first position.

He thought the pair of women in his life looked positively… adorable. Laura's auburn hair was tucked up in a bun, as was Livvie's raven hair, and both wore pink leotards, white tights and pink ballet shoes, the former's concession, he knew, to their daughter.

"All right, baby, that's enough for now," Laura announced. "Ready to have some fun?" Olivia's eyes glimmered and her mouth formed an 'o', and Remington winced, as he knew what was coming. Crossing the room, Laura turned off the tape of classical music, then depressed play on the second cassette player. The room immediately filled with Paula Abdul's _Opposites Attract_.

"Awwwwwwwwwww," he groused, even as Livvie began pumping her legs, flinging her arms, while Laura danced along with their daughter. "However do we go from Rachmaninov to this… this… assault on the ears, Laura?" he called the question above the blaring music.

"I'd think you'd appreciate it, Mr. Steele," she called back, never missing a step.

"Why ever would you think that?" he asked.

"Paula Abdul. She's exactly your type. You know. Large…" her eyes darted to their daughter. "…Brains, revealing clothing, disinhibited." He snorted with derision.

"Given the only… brains… that I have lus—" He eyed their daughter and didn't finish the word, "I have pursued with vigor for near on a decade belong to you, that's hardly a convincing reason for me to admire this… slop," he countered. He scowled when she merely smirked at his backhanded compliment.

"Alright. Well, think of it this way: This could very well be our song," she suggested.

"Bite your tongue, Laura," he admonished. "We are far too refined, too elegant of a couple for this… rubbish… to be representative of us by any stretch of the imagination."

"Dance, Da!" Olivia called out to him.

"Ahhhh, a stór, I believe I'll sit this one out," he declined, while Laura smirked again. He narrowed his eyes at her for good measure.

Olivia ran across the room and pulled at his pant leg. He leaned down to her eye level.

"Dance, Da. Peaseeeeeeeee," she begged, patting his cheeks with her hands. Across the room, Laura tittered with mirth knowing full well he'd be unable to deny Olivia's request. The two-year-old had long ago figured out how to tug at her father's heartstrings. With a pained look upon his face, he took to his feet.

"Oh, this ought to be good," Laura mocked around her laughter. Her laughter dried up as he began to dance. The man, much to her surprise, had moves. "You never told me you could dance," she accused, her voice going up an octave.

"Laura, how many times must I remind you Daniel assured my education was complete?" he asked, as he maneuvered a neat little spin. "The young wealthy frequented the discotheques in the mid-seventies, the clubs in the late-seventies, beginning of the eighties. Where better to rub elbows, make connections, hear word of…" he left that thought trail off to divine for herself the remainder, rather than discuss such delicate matters in front of their child.

"Oh, my," she drawled. "So which was it? Flared polyester pants and loud nylon shirts or the three piece leisure suit ala John Travolta?" He gave her a quelling look, as he plucked Olivia up off the floor and dipped her. A pair of humor-filled blue eyes looked up at her through his lashes.

"Really, Laura, need you ask?" he challenged, around Olivia's peals of laughter. Sweeping her upward, he did another spin, then plunked her down on her feet, to take Laura's hand and spin her into his arms.

The evening would never be recorded to paper by Remington's hand, but would remain a treasured memory to Laura for a lifetime, her child's joy and this new piece of her husband's past making it impossible to be anything but.


	18. June 1990 - 2 years, 7 months

_June 1990 – 2 years, 7 months old_

Olivia was snugly secured in her father's arm as he and Laura approached the stairs which led to the mammoth front doors of Ashford Castle, Terrence O'Riley, principal chauffer for Ashford Castle, following up in the rear, arms laden with luggage.

"It's Snow White's house, Da!" Livvie exclaimed, her blue eyes rounded as she took in the castle before them.

"Not quite, a stór, though I imagine she'd fancy living here should it be," he answered, laughter weaving through his words, as the couple climbed the stairs. "This, in fact, is one of our homes." Mickeline swung open the doors, having seen the car arrive.

"Is I a princess, Da?" she asked, laying a hand on both her father's cheeks, to be certain he was paying attention.

"'Am I a princess', baby'" Laura corrected gently. "And no, you're not…" she glanced sideways at her husband "…Although there are times your Da fancies himself a king." Livvie's eyes grew all the wider at her mother's announcement.

"Da's a king?" she asked, drawing out each word in awe.

"Only insomuch as he treats your mother like a queen," he answered, as he captured Laura's hand and brought it to his mouth, whispering his lips across her knuckles, his bright blue eyes focused intently upon her. He barked a laugh as she rolled her eyes heavenward.

"Ha!" she proclaimed, the single word a clear indictment of his claim. Having overheard the last of the conversation, Mickeline concealed a laugh of his own with a discrete cough.

"Yer Lordship, Yer Ladyship, tis a true pleasure ta 'ave ye in residence once more," he greeted. Remington set Livvie on her feet and accepted Mickeline's offered hand.

"You're looking well, Mickeline," Remington complimented as they exchanged handshakes. "It would seem the role of resort manager agrees with you."

"That it does, Yer Lordship." Mickeline's eyes settled on Livvie when Remington set her on her feet to help Laura off with her coat. "And who 'ave ye brought with ye? Surely, this can't be our Little Lady, fer tis a young lady we 'ave 'ere." Livvie tilted her head to the side and studied the strange man before her.

"I'm Olivia," she finally pronounced.

"Ahh, then indeed tis ye. Grown like a weed, 'have ye?" He playfully bowed before her. "Tis our great pleasure to 'ave ye 'ere Lady Olivia." She giggled, finding great amusement in his speech and the courtly gesture. "Shall I see ye ta yer rooms, Yer Lordship, Yer Ladyship?"

"By all means, lead the way," Remington answered for the pair, gesticulating grandly. Laura gnashed her teeth together. If the history of their visits to Ashford were any indication, a couple days would need to pass before Remington ceased reveling in the stately treatment both his title and ownership of the castle bestowed upon him. And in the meantime, the puffed out chest and air of superiority would reign.

The staff had, for the second time in the last three visits, prepared a surprise for the Steele family: Livvie's room had been revamped, the crib replaced by a twin, four poster bed, replete with pink canopy, and a gorgeous, white, eyelet, goose down comforter. Nestled amongst the pillows of the bed, awaiting the arrival of the Little Lady, a dark haired, blue eyed, rosy cheeked doll, dressed in a bonnet and dress made from hand sewn lace.

"You and the staff have outdone yourselves again, Mickeline," Laura praised, as Olivia gasped upon seeing the doll. "Thank you." Olivia scrambled up on the bed, and plucked the doll from its little haven.

" _For me?_ " she asked, hopefully.

"Tis indeed fer ye, Lady Olivia," Mickeline confirmed with another bow, that sent Olivia's laughter wafting through the air.

"He's funny, Mommy," Livvie proclaimed, turning around and wriggling down off the bed. "He didded this…" she executed a bow in imitation of Mickeline, "Liked in my princess movie."

"'He did this,'" her mother automatically corrected. "What do you say to him for giving you the doll and a beautiful room, Livvie?" Laura coaxed. Livvie grinned up at the man.

"Thank you."

"Yer quite welcome, Lady Olivia. Twas a pleasure, I assure ye."

"Livvie, stay here and play with your doll while Mommy and Da go unpack in their room," Laura instructed.

"Okay, Mommy." Out of habit, Remington turned on the baby monitor, still taking up its position on the nightstand, and the couple left the room.

By the time they arrived in the master suite, all their luggage had been delivered, and stood stacked in the center of the room. With a sigh, Laura reached for the first of the cases to begin unpacking, then let out a screech as she found herself swung off her feet.

"What _are you doing_?" she demanded to know around her helpless laughter.

"If I recall correctly, _Mrs. Steele_ ," Remington answered, blue eyes twinkling bright, as he carried her across the room towards the bed, "We've a baby to make, and where better for it to happen than here, hmmmm?" He lay her on the bed then stretched out atop her, resting upon his elbows as he looked down at her. Her hand skimmed up his arm, over his shoulder, and her fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Ye sweet talkin' Irish man," she answered, in a playful imitation of an Irish accent, "Is it some lovin' ye be lookin' fer then?'" A wide smile spread across his face, then with a touch of the tips of his fingers to her cheek, he grew serious.

"Here? With you?" He leaned down, allowed his lips to hover mere millimeters from her own, then whispered, "Always." His lips teased, caressed hers, until she squirmed beneath him, the quiescent desire for the man that always hummed beneath of the surface of her skin coming to life. Still, she leaned her head back, parting their lips, to look towards the door.

"What about Olivia?" He bent his head to scatter soft kisses, gentle nips along her jaw and neck.

"A new room, new doll? She'll be occupied at least an hour," he hummed. With a pair of fingers against her jaw, he turned her to face him again, immediately claiming his lips for his own. Her lips parted willingly and he eased his tongue inside, to explore, taste, to stroke her own. With a moan low in her throat, her hands caressed his back, before moving to his shoulders shoving at his suit's jacket. He gladly shed it, allowing it to drop carelessly to the floor, his lips never leaving hers. She reached for his tie, began loosening it when…

"Da!" Olivia's voice simultaneously traveled over the monitor and through the hallways, as she tried to discover where her parents had gotten off to. "Da! Where is you? Mommy?" Laura's arms dropped to the bed, and she laughed, with frustration, against his lips. With a groan of dismay, he reared back his head and looked disbelievingly towards the bedroom door.

"Fatherhood calls, Mr. Steele," Laura observed, breathlessly.

Reluctantly, he eased himself away from his wife's tempting little body, and off the bed. Then, with a final look of dismay at Laura, her chest heaving where she still lay, he tightened his tie as he left the room to answer his daughter's bidding.

* * *

The staff of Ashford Castle, always taken with the child of the Earl and Countess of Claridge, were left positively bedazzle by her this stay. Inevitably, when a member of the staff saw the Little Lady in a hallway or room, that person would bow or curtsy, as their gender dictated, in order to lure a joyous laugh from the blue eyed, raven haired little gamin. By the end of the second day, each bow or curtsy would be matched by a curtsy of Olivia's own.

Much like her father, Livvie soaked up the fawning, the adulation making her all the more charming in return. In no time, she had the staff wrapped around her little finger, they becoming her playmates during games of hide-n-seek, ring-around-the-rosie, and the castle's own rendition of marco polo. It wasn't uncommon for Remington and Laura to go hours without seeing hide nor hair of their child, although her sing-song voice and melodious laugh could be heard throughout the castle, assuring she was in good hands.

They put the time alone to good, and very pleasurable, use: Taking long walks, attending to castle business… and making love, the last perhaps the most productive of all.

For Ashford Castle, long remembered as the place where they'd finally let down their walls and crossed that line, was also the place where their second child was conceived.


	19. September 1990 - 2 years, 10 months old

_September 4, 1990 – 2 years, 10 months old_

"My sashell, Mommy," Olivia cried out, as she tried to scramble back into the Jeep to retrieve it.

"' _Satch_ -ell', sweetie," Laura corrected, then eased Olivia away from the Jeep and reached into the bag seat for it. Handing it to her young daughter, the pair turned to find Remington studying the school before them while rubbing a hand over his mouth.

Olivia had been adamant: she didn't want a backpack to take to 'pwe-school' but a 'bag like mommies.' Laura, Bernice, Jocelyn, Frances and Mildred had searched for weeks trying for that coveted satchel, which were once so common for little girls to carry to school, to no avail. Then, one night, as Laura was trying to get off the phone with her mother, using the satchel search as an excuse, it was Abigail who was the victor: She still had Laura's satchel from her elementary school days up in the attic. Would she like it? The answer had been a resounding 'yes', the idea of her daughter carrying her now vintage bag to school with her holding undeniable sentimental appeal.

As hard as it had been to find that bag, it didn't even approach the difficulty involved in convincing Remington it was time to cut the ties and send his little girl off to preschool. His arguments against the idea had ranged from 'She's to young' and 'Don't you think she'll spend enough of her childhood in school, already?' to 'She's never been apart from us, Lau-ra.' He'd lost every argument waged, because at the end of the day, Olivia had reached an age when she needed more than days at the Agency could offer her.

Thus, there they stood, on this sunny morning, before the Good Shepard school, where Olivia would attend from preschool through eighth grade. One of the oldest schools in the Los Angeles area, the Beverly Hills parochial school was also the cream of the crop, offering a strong curriculum in both core subjects and catechism, as well as outstanding instruction in arts, music and language. They'd visited a half dozen schools before selecting Good Shepard and she was confident in their decision.

"C'mon, Mommy," Olivia insisted, giving her mother's hand a tug. Although her father was reticent about her starting school, his daughter was jittery with excitement. Laura reached out and rubbed her husband's arm.

"Let's not ruin this day for her, huh?" she urged. Dropping his hand from his face, he drew in a long breath, let it out slowly, then nodded his head.

While most parents, particularly mothers, worried their child's first day of school would be met with angst and tears, neither Remington nor Laura needed to worry such would be the case with their daughter. The instant they opened the door to her assigned classroom, she darted through the doorway and ran up to the first little girl she saw.

"I'm Livvie," she announced, confidently. "What's your name?" The other little girl with caramel-colored skin and large, expressive brown eyes, gave Livvie a tooth grin.

"I'm Nikki," her new playmate introduced herself. "We have fishies! Wanna go see 'em?"

"Okay!" Livvie eagerly agreed, dropping satchel and lunchbox on the floor and running off, her new friend's hand held in hers.

Laura patiently pick both up, then the Steele's stood back to observe the classroom and their daughter. When the teacher suggested it was time for all parents to leave so the children could begin their morning routine, Laura called Livvie to them to exchange goodbyes.

"Bye, Mommy. Bye Da!" She cheerfully kissed them both on the cheek, gave them a speedy hug, then raced back off across the room to wriggle into a tiny chair at a small table. Remington watched it all unfold while rubbing at his face again. Laura's hand on his upper arm guided him from the room, his thoughts occupied as they walked to the Jeep. He didn't speak until they'd been driving several minutes.

"It's a mistake, Laura," he finally announced. She slanted her eyes out the window of the driver's side window and rolled her eyes. She'd known it was coming, now to find the patience to see it through.

"Oh?"

"Did you see that room? It was utter chaos," he gesticulated with his hand, "The children running amok everywhere."

"I saw nothing out of the ordinary for the first day of school," she countered, then thought to add, "First week, even."

"And that alleged teacher?" He puffed out a short breath. "She's little more than a child herself."

"She's twenty-five, only a year younger than I was when you and I first met," she told him, pointedly. "She has a bachelor's degree in early childhood education, is working towards her masters, and is highly regarded by the staff."

"Yes, because if a teacher were incompetent, the staff would volunteer _that_ information," he scoffed. "Any number of deranged individuals could walk through the front doors of

that school and abscond with our child, Laura!"

"You've lost your mind, Mr. Steele," she accused, her restraint ebbing. "Olivia is perfectly safe. The classroom's fine, the teacher's fine, the school is _fine._ And as far as _I know_ , there's not a map in existence on which the location of our child's school is marked."

"Still—" She held up a hand at him.

"We're done discussing this."

"But—"

"I mean it, Remington." Crossing his arms, he turned and stared out the passenger window, sulking.

* * *

Laura growled aloud, as she slammed down the receiver of the phone.

"I'm going to wring his neck!" she declared, furiously, as she picked back up the receiver and called the car phone in the M3. No answer. Then the Porsche. The same. Then the house. More of the same. The limo. Nothing different. For fifty minutes, she dialed, redialed, then dialed again.

With a final slam of the receiver, she surged to her feet, grabbed her purse and briefcase, then stormed out the door of the Agency as Bernice's curious eyes followed her.

"Whatever he's done this time, I wouldn't want to be him when she finds him."

* * *

Remington reached in through the limo window and handed Fred a fifty.

"Go have yourself a nice steak on me, Fred. Two hours should do it."

"Yes, Mr. Steele." Fred eyed the fifty in his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Steele." Remington stood up, and reached for Olivia's hands, then thought better of it. Leaning back down, he handed Fred another fifty.

"And Fred, don't worry about answering the phone."

"What phone, sir?" With a conspiratorial grin, Remington stood, slapped the top of the limo twice, then turned towards Venice pier with his daughter.

* * *

"Awwwww," Remington groaned, as Fred turned the limo into the driveway of their Holmby Hills home. The Jeep was parked to the left of the carport. Not a good sign… not a good sign, at all.

"Mommy's home!" Olivia chortled with glee.

"Mmmm. So, I see," he answered, giving her hair a fond stroke of his hand.

They'd waited at the school for Laura for more than half an hour. He'd suspected… no, had known… she'd somehow found out about his little gambit. Still he'd hoped.

The door to the house swung open, as he helped Olivia from the limo.

"Hello, Fred," she waved to their driver. Fred grimaced, interpreting the overly effusive greeting for what it was: His boss had gotten him in hot water with his other boss.

"Mrs. Steele." Her head swiveled to her husband.

"Mommy!" Olivia squealed, charging towards Laura as soon as Remington put her down on her feet.

"Hello, _darling,_ " she called to him in a voice as sweet as saccharine. He visibly flinched, before drawing a hand through his hair.

"We goed to the Pier, Mommy!" Olivia announced, flinging herself into her mother's arms. Laura lifted her up easily.

" _You did_?!" Laura feigned excitement for her little girl's sake, forgoing correcting her for a change.

"Uh-huh." Tilting her head to the side, she lifted her brows at her little girl.

"And here I thought you were in school," she commented, looking over Livvie's shoulder with a pair of narrowed eyes at her husband. He cringed.

"I was. Da gotted me before nap."

"And filled you up on cotton candy and hotdogs, I imagine?" she asked, as she turned and walked through the front door with their daughter, he following slowly behind with unconcealed dread.

"Uh-huh," Livvie confirmed.

"Alright, Livvie Bee. You can tell me _all_ about your day," she sat her little girl down on her feet, and tapped her on the nose with a single finger, " _After_ we brush your teeth and wash your hands. Go upstairs. I'll be right up to help you."

"Okay, Mommy," Olivia agreed with a smile, then turned and ran up the stairs under Laura's watchful eyes. At the sound of the door closing behind her, she turned on her heel and faced her husband, who already had two hands held up, palms facing towards her, in self-defense.

"Now, Laura, let's not go making more out of this than there is," he bade. She lifted a pair of brows at him, and gave him a stiff smile as she stepped to him and reached for his loosened tie, fingering it.

"Of course not, _darling._ " He made no attempt to hide his reaction to her words, his face contorting with trepidation. She was the only person on the planet who knew how he felt about that particular endearment, and for her to use it now…

"Laura, I—"

"Was just worried about our daughter, right?" she asked, her voice reasonable… too reasonable. The brown eyes that gazed him were far too friendly. He knew that. He _knew._ Yet he still couldn't quash the sudden spark of hope that surged through him.

"Yes, yes. Precisely," he agreed, a tad too eagerly. Her smile widened.

"You just wanted to be sure she was…" Her fingers worked his tie, straightening the knot, "…Happy."

"Safe, even," he dared to add. She widened her eyes, nodded slowly, as she fingered the now perfectly positioned tie.

"And you simply needed some time alone with her to be sure that she did." She slid the knot of the tie upward, tweaking it as she did so.

"Yes, yes. So, you do understand," he grinned. She swayed her head and pursed her lips thoughtfully.

"Which is why you snatched our daughter from her school…" The tie was getting a bit more snug than he cared for, but he wisely thought now was not the time to criticize, "…and didn't answer my _dozens_ of calls." The tie continued to get incrementally tighter, and he swallowed hard because of both the tie and his growing panic "…and instructed _Fred_ not to answer it as well." With compromised circulation imminent, he changed his mind on the timing of what might be viewed as criticism.

"Laura, love," he rasped, "Not to nit-pick, but my tie is getting a bit snug." She tilted her head at him.

"Oh, I'm sorry…" she loosened it slightly, and he heaved a sigh, his lips tilting upwards in the beginning of a smile "…darling…" That smile fled. She gave the tie a hard yank, and he swore spots appeared before his eyes. "If you _ever_ pull a stunt like this again, Remington Steele, you'll _wish_ that it was a tie around your neck!"

With those final words, she stormed up the stairs, as he worked feverishly to loosen the garrote around his neck.

 _Point made._


	20. December 1990 - 3 year 1 month

_December 1990 – 3 years, 1 month_

It was with no little dread that Remington had prepared for the afternoon Laura had planned for the family. By some miracle… and with a good deal of fancy footing… he'd managed to avoid another visit to that den of inequity American's so optimistically referred to as _the mall._ It had, in fact, been four years since he and Laura had taken Laurie Beth to the mall for a bit of Christmas shopping and a visit with the fat man in the red and white suit. He had… loathed… every moment of the experience, making desperate suggestions on how they might flee the retail Sodom and Gomorrah for a more refined, more… sedate… establishment.

They'd arrived a little after ten-thirty and by then the line had already stretched a good bushel of children deep. All the while, Olivia – decked out in a vibrant red velvet dress, with flowing white lace cuffs and matching flounce at the hem, wearing white tights and black Mary Janes – had been bouncing about on her tiptoes excitedly.

"How much longer, Mommy? How much longer?" Livvie asked Laura for the dozenth time in the last thirty minutes.

Laura poked her head out around the line in front of them and did a quick estimation. They were still at least forty children back, and she was doing her best to hide her own impatience. It was well after noon, and she could easily predict the next words out of her daughter's mouth when she provided the answer to the first question.

"We're getting close, baby… _very, very_ close. You just need to be patient a little while longer, I promise."

"I'm hun-gy," Livvie whined in reply.

"I know, Livvie. So am I," she commiserated. At six months pregnant, hunger was a constant, gnawing companion and her stomach had been rumbling for a long while now.

"Remind me again why it is we're here?" Remington asked, as he picked Livvie up. Laying her head on his shoulder, she wrapped one arm around his neck and slipped a pair of fingers into her mouth.

"Because Olivia has something important she wishes to tell Santa Claus," Laura reminded, her own temperament hanging by a thin thread.

"Surely there is a more… sedate… locale visited by St. Nick," he suggested, quickly approaching a whine to rival his daughter's.

"Not that I'm aware of." She tapped her foot, antsy to get this done and over with. Murmurs of unhappiness spread amongst those in front of them, growing louder the closer they came, as people began to suddenly disburse. "What's going on?" she asked her husband whose considerable height distance gave him a distinct advantage of seeing what was happening ahead of them. He muttered an oath under his breath.

"It seems 'Santa' and his helpers have gone to lunch and will return at two," he updated her. Her eyes widened as she looked from their daughter towards the area where Santa's 'throne' was located then back to her daughter. Lips tightening, eyes narrowing dangerously, her back stiffened and chin tipped up.

"The hell he is!" she decreed, storming away before he could make a fruitless grab at her arm. She stalked up to a man, dressed as an elf, standing behind the camera at the foreground of the North Pole tableau. "Lunch? People have been waiting hours for their children to see Santa and he's going to _lunch_?!" she bit out, plunking her fists on hips.

"I dunno what ta tell ya, lady," the unsympathetic man answered. "Dude that was supposed ta do the mid-shift didn't show."

"And the children who've waited hours to see Santa should pay the price for someone else's failures?" she questioned. "That's simply unacceptable. I don't care who it is, but someone needs to go put on that suit—"

She was unaware of the group of other disgruntled parents circling around the pair to watch.

"Ain't no one doing that, Lady, I can promise you that," he cut her off, covering the camera in a plastic casing and zipping it up.

"Laura," Remington called as edged his way through the gathering throng, giving the frustrated man a look of apology as he approached her side. She held a hand up to him before he could say anything further. With a sigh, he let her have at it… as though he could stop her.

"I'd like to speak to whomever is managing this farce!" she demanded.

"Damn, Lady, you need ta chill out," the man told her. "Don't no one care if those kids gotta wait an hour. People's gotta eat."

" _I care_ , and I'm sure every other parent that's waited here for hours _cares_ ," she contradicted. "Not to mention the children who only wish to see Santa."

"Shit, lady, you act like the dude's real. Mebbe you should just tell yer kids there ain't no such—" His words cut off in a howl when the heel of her shoe landed squarely on top of his foot, the cheap elf shoes offering little protection. "Security!" he screamed as he hopped about and the onlookers applauded.

"Laura," Remington said again, reaching for her arm. "Lauralauralaura, perhaps we should—" She yanked her arm free and advanced on the man, prepared to go nose-to-nose with him.

"You finish that sentence and I can promise you, security won't be of any help to you," she warned, eyes flashing.

"You tell him, Lady!" one man yelled in support.

"Who do you think you are?" another woman yelled.

When a pair of hands grabbed her arms, believing it was Remington, she tried to yank away.

"Ma'am, you need to come with us," a strange, baritone voice announced from behind her.

"Get your hands off me!" she ordered, trying to twist away.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to take your hands off my wife," Remington told the guard, in a quiet, yet clearly menacing voice. "My very pregnant wife, might I add." The security guard released his grip and Laura promptly spun around, chin tipped up in defiance.

"If you'll come with us, please," the guard repeated, while his partner looked none to eager to tangle with the woman before them.

"Not until—" She stopped speaking when Remington leaned down to speak near to her ear.

"Perhaps it would be best not to test the reach of the short arm of the law, hmmm?" He looked up and flashed his teeth at the guards. "While Livvie may be asleep at this moment, I'd hate her to wake to find her Mommy being hauled off by the coppers."

"They can't arrest me," she answered indignantly. "They're nothing but a pair of rent-a-cops."

"Central, be aware we may need the LAPD dispatched to our location," the previously quiet guard announced into the radio at his shoulder, causing Remington to raise a single 'I told you so' brow at her. Her lips thinned and she glowered back at him.

"Fine," she agreed, tightly.

"This way," the handsy one directed.

Laura stomped away, a resigned Remington at her side, he bemused by the applause following her, she never hearing it at all.

* * *

"Banned from the mall for two years," she snorted with disdain, as she crossed her arms and glared from where she sat in the passenger seat of the Jeep. "As though that's a punishment. I tell you what it is: Misogyny at it's finest. _That's_ what it is. The assumption that banning a woman from shopping would be the ultimate penance. Ha! Well the joke's on them." He merely hummed in agreement as she continued her anger fueled monologue. "I don't even _like_ to shop. And if I did, how could they possibly believe I'd ever return to _that place_ after what's happened? Forcing parents and children to wait hours, only to shrug their shoulders and say 'Bugger off kids. It's time to go shove our faces full of food.'" He chuckled quietly, wondering if she even realized she'd borrowed a colorful phrase from his British blasphemies. He didn't realize his error, until her head snapped around and she turned those narrowed eyes on him. "You think this is funny!?"

"No, no, of course not," he answered, immediately, swallowing hard as he tried to figure his way out of this pickle. "Truth be told, we're likely better off. I wasn't at all comfortable with Livvie sitting on that… that… degenerate's lap, sharing her wish list. In fact, the way he looked at her when we first arrived made me most uncomfortable. I'd likely have demanded we leave when it was her turn—" He stopped when she held up a hand at him and rolled her eyes.

"That's enough," she told him, knowing perfectly well he was doing little more than trying to placate her. "The point is you can't do what they did when there are children are involved. Then for that buffoon to nearly announce—"

"How much longer, Da?" Livvie's sleepy voice came from the backseat as she woke, scrubbing at her eyes, not even awake enough yet to realize they were on the road.

In the seat next to him, Laura drew in a swift breath. Unable to bring herself to look at their daughter, she flopped her head against the back of the seat and lifted a pair of fingers to her brow.

"Oh, God, what have I done," she berated herself, under her breath. He reached for her hand, pulling it away from her brow. Tangling their fingers together, he gave it a supportive squeeze.

"I'm afraid not, a stór. Much like yourself, Santa was tired and needed to take his long winter's nap," he prevaricated.

"Will he wakeded up soon?" she inquired, seeming to accept this explanation.

"Mmmmm, not today. But he asked that I tell you he will see you for certain very soon." His little daughter's eyes widened.

"You talkeded to Santa?" Peeking at her in the rearview mirror he gave her a wide smile.

"I did, and you will as well, just not today," he promised. "We'll be home momentarily, then you can help me make lunch, hmmm?"

"Can we have grilled cheese samiches?" she asked hopefully.

"I'm sure that can be arranged."

Next to Remington, Laura blew out a long, relieved breath as it was clear a potential crisis had been averted.

* * *

The following Friday, Laura and Olivia walked through the front door of their Holmby Hills home together. Remington had a final inspection on a security system that afternoon, so preschool pickup had fallen to her automatically. Not that she minded. This close to the holidays, the office was slower than normal, so the idea of having a couple of extra hours with her young daughter held a definite appeal.

"So, Livvie Bee, what would you like to do this afternoon?" Laura inquired, as she helped Livvie out of her coat.

"Swim!" Livvie immediately answered.

"I'm afraid it's too cold out for that today, baby." Livvie's lip stuck out in a pout for a split second, before her eyes lit up with another idea.

"Coloring!" Laura shook Livvie's hand, playfully.

"It's a deal. I'll even make us some hot chocolate," she offered, adding a sweet bonus to the agreement, as she reached for her daughter's hand.

"With whit cream?" she asked hopefully, skipping alongside her mother towards the dining room.

"Whipped cream," Laura enunciated the 'p's', "And absolutely. Hot chocolate is just not the same without—" Her feet stuttered to a stop, while Olivia dropped her hand and raced for the French doors at the back of the house.

"It's noing, Mommy. It's noing!" she squealed with delight, pressing hands and nose to the glass of the doors.

"Snowing," Laura corrected, voice dazed. _Huh? What? How? What is going on around here?!_ She asked herself as she walked to the French doors and swung them open. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head at what she saw, while Livvie's reaction was exactly the opposite, prancing around and chortling with excitement.

"It's Santa, Mommy. He comed to see me like Da saided!" she announced with glee.

 _I'm gonna kill him!_

With more than a little horror, Laura's eyes scanned the terrace as Livvie raced away towards Remington. Snow was falling from the sky – and melting as soon as it touched the too warm ground. Candy cane posts were lined up to form a lane directly to Santa sleigh – yes, Santa's _sleigh_ which sat on a somehow white patch of 'snow' – in which the rotund man, himself, sat in his glory.

"Ho, ho, ho," Santa bellowed above the _Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer_ playing throughout the backyard, while Remington bestowed her with a Cheshire cat grin.

A smile that faltered when she glowered in return at him.

"Da! It's Santa! He comed!" Breaking eye contact with Laura, he bent down and swung Livvie up into his arms.

"Of course, he did, a stór," he agreed, with a solemn nod. "I told you he'd see you soon, did I not?" She placed her tiny hands on his cheek.

"He comed just for _me_? _"_ she asked, clearly astonished by the thought.

"That he did," he confirmed. "Now, if I recall correctly, didn't you have something you needed to speak with him about?" She tilted her head to the side, her hopeful blue eyes meeting with his adoring blue eyes.

"Can I?"

"That's why he's here." He walked over where Santa was positioned in the sleigh. "Santa, this is the young lady you were looking for." Santa laughed deep in his belly.

"I know who Olivia is. I've watched all year to make sure she's been a good little girl," Santa replied. Olivia's eyes widened.

"You have?"

Remington sat her down on the seat next to the burly, bearded man then stepped away, waving at a photographer Laura hadn't spied before to come forward. Warily, he then approached his wife.

"It's official. You've lost your mind," she ground out when he stood next to her, while she somehow maintained a smile for their daughter's sake.

"I promised Olivia she would see Santa, and I've kept that promise," he reminded her, his eyes never leaving Olivia. He eased an arm around Laura's thickened waist and gently urged her closer to the sleigh.

" _See_ , Mr. Steele. As in at the mall," she protested.

"One you're not banned from?" That smile disappeared, her head snapped sideways to look at him, and her eyes shot daggers. _Oops._ "Look at her, Laura," he urged quietly. "Don't you wish someone had done such for you as a child? It's a memory she'll keep with her always."

She couldn't help it. She turned and looked… and her heart melted at the sight. Olivia tugging at Santa's beard, a wide smile on her face, as she giggled with abandon. How could she take this from either of them? He was right: it was a memory Olivia would carry with her for a lifetime. Letting out a long breath, she leaned her head against the side of his chest.

"A _once_ in a lifetime memory," she quietly insisted. He bussed her on the top of her head, a silent agreement.

"So, Olivia, what would you like for Christmas?" Santa inquired. She gazed up at the man, with absolute trust, convinced he could make any wish come true.

"A sister."

Laura leaned her head back to look up at Remington with soft eyes, watched as he swallowed hard and his eyes moistened. Overcome by the moment, the unselfish request by the daughter, he said the only words that came to mind as his hand slipped downward to caress the side of her Laura's burgeoning stomach.

"That's two nothing, in my favor." Her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Oh? Do tell?" He touched a set of fingers against her cheek, his eyes filled with warmth.

"I was right about Olivia, and it seems I am meant to be right about this babe being a girl as well," he answered. Her laugh tricked line air.

"How do you figure that?" she challenged.

"It's Olivia's wish to Santa.


	21. April 1991 - 3 years old

_April 1991 – 3 years old_

Remington stood in the doorway of Sophie's room, leaning with a shoulder against the jamb. Clad only in his pajama bottoms and a robe draped carelessly over his shoulders, he'd felt compelled, for some odd reason, to check upon his youngest daughter before retiring for the evening. The bright pink cast fitted to Livvie's tiny arm seemed to glow in the light of the moon which trickled through the bedroom windows.

He couldn't say why it was he found the cast so… disconcerting. After all, he'd worn many such an apparatus over the years. He'd broken a leg on three different occasions since assuming the guise of Remington Steele, had even suffered a broken arm, himself, as a child.

 _Not from a fall_ , said the recesses of his mind.

He'd not been much older than Livvie – three, nearly, but not quite, four. At the last home he'd arrived in just prior to the blissful year he'd spent with the Shannahan's, he recalled. The patriarch had had a quick temper, even faster hand, and ruled the family with an iron fist of brutality. Many a night he'd lain awake listening to the sounds of furniture overturning, glass breaking, the matriarch crying out as the man had beaten her for whatever transgression it was he believed she'd committed. Even as a child, he'd felt helpless, knowing innately that what was happening to the woman was unacceptable.

He'd come to loathe the patriarch. Each time the man's open palm connected with one of the children's faces, the back of their head… each time the strap had left a child with welts scored across their back, their bum.

It had only been a matter of time before his turn arrived. He searched his memory for the reason why, and was left empty handed. Perhaps it had been nothing more than his disdain for the man had shown in his eyes. But, one night the man's ire had turned on him, no matter that he was no more than a little tyke at the time. In a fit of anger, the man had grabbed his arm, twisting it until the defiance had left his eyes. Whatever anger he'd felt was quickly supplanted by blinding pain. He'd howled, he remembered now, as he'd hit his knees.

Only then did the man release him.

He stepped into the room, sat on the edge of the bed in which his daughters were sleeping, caressing Livvie's head with a stroke as light as a whisper.

He'd lain in bed that night, holding the wounded limb, even the smallest of movements making him whimper. It was to his benefit that the woman was kind, if beaten down, for she'd seen to it that he saw the surgeon the following day while the man was at work. Casts then hadn't been as they were now. They'd been big, clunky plaster affairs that were beyond heavy for a small tyke… not to mention buggering itchy.

The worst of it, however, hadn't been the pain. It had been the realization as he'd lain in bed, frightened and in pain, that he was quite alone in the world.

That Livvie might have experienced anything similar? Well, it clawed at his heart, it did.

From the doorway where Laura now stood, she watched the play of emotions over her husband's face, not that they'd been difficult for her to discern: a bad memory first, then the strain of guilt pulling at his eyes and mouth. With a shake of her head, she walked up behind him and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Olivia's alright, Remington. It's a childhood injury, nothing more," she quietly reassured. The only indication he'd heard her at all, was in the way his free hand covered hers: acceptance of the solace offered.

"We weren't there, Laura," he shared the thought that gnawed at his conscience. "She was likely frightened, needed—" She sat on the bed in front of him, and, facing him, pressed a finger against his lips.

"Don't do this to yourself," she scolded lightly, as she moved her hand to caress his cheek. "I have no idea where you were in that head of yours when I came in, but wherever it was, it is _not the same_ as what happened with Livvie. She wasn't alone or frightened. She had Donald, Frances and Lina with her. You heard her yourself, when we were on the phone with Lina, on the way to the hospital: The _only_ thing she was upset about was having to leave the party. Olivia knows how much we love her, that we would have moved heaven and earth to have been there with her if we could have. _That's_ what matters." He took a deep, shaky breath and let it out, while nodding his head rapidly. Standing, she bent down and bussed him on the forehead. "Say goodnight, Mr. Steele, then come to bed and you can tell me where you were a little bit ago." She ruffed his hair with a hand, then left the room.

Standing, Remington bent over and tucked the sheets around Olivia, taking care to leave her broken wing out to air. He bussed her cheek, then repeated the tuck-in routine for his eldest child who slept on the other side of the bed. As he walked towards the door, Livvie's voice broke the still of the air.

"Da?"she asked.

"Go back to sleep, Livvie Bee," he whispered, so as not to wake Sophie "I was just seeing you and your sister tucked in, safe and sound." He sat down on the edge of the bed and caressed his small daughter's cheek, before leaning down and bussing her, again, on the forehead. "I love you, a stór." Livvie reached up and held a small palm to his cheek.

"I know." With that, she rolled to her side and closed her eyes.

It was yet another way daughter was like her mother. A touch, a simple reassurance, and his heart was immediately lighter than it had been just moments before.

Standing, he left the room and walked towards the master… towards the woman who would find a way to ease the burden of a memory.

* * *

 _ **A/N: For Chibijem**_


	22. July 1991 - 3 years old

_July 1991 – 3 years old_

"Alright, my Little Ladies," Remington announced, as he opened the door to the Explorer and lifted first Olivia, then Sophia, to the ground. "Let's remember the rules and mind your manners."

The girls nodded happily, each taking one of his hands and skipping along beside him towards the grocery store's door.

Inside, he selected a cart. He waited for the girls to grip the side of the cart before moving forward.

"Blueberries or blackberries, Sophie Bird?"

"Blueberries, please," she answered, looking to Olivia for her nod of approval. Remington carefully examined the array of pre-packaged blueberries and set the carton in their car.

"Honeydew or cantaloupe, Livvie Bee?"

"Honeydew!" Livvie answered, as Sophie nodded enthusiastically. He peered down at his small daughter.

"Let's give that another go, shall we?" he suggested with a lift of his brows. She cocked her head to the side and nibbled at her lower lip. Her lips formed a small 'o' and her face lit up, proud of herself for understanding her Da's cue.

"Honeydew, please!"

"Well done, a stór," he praised. "Honeydew, it is."

And so it went throughout the produce section, most choices eagerly made, although here-and-there there was an occasional choice the girls viewed as 'the lesser of two evils.'

"Broccoli or Brussel sprouts, Livvie Bee?"

"Boccoli," she answered with a put upon sigh, then added, reluctantly, "Please," although it seemed somehow worse to have to ask nicely for something she didn't like.

The girls and Remington looked forward to weekend errands. The girls felt important being included in such a grown up job, and it was time for them, alone, with their Da.

That they managed to charm Da of a treat on these trips that Mommy would frown upon, only sweetened the day.

What the family didn't particularly enjoy was the attention they so often garnered. Any number of times, as they traversed up and down the aisles, they would be stopped by admirers.

From older women: "Aren't you girls the prettiest little things…" inevitably ending in one or both of the girls having their cheeks pinched.

From elderly men: "Better have a shot gun loaded and ready to go, young man…" accompanied by a laugh and a swat to Remington's back.

Then there were the women, of the on the prowl variety. Had he realized while still a confirmed bachelor that women seemed to find a man with a child irresistible… well, he could have saved a small fortune on wine, dinner and theater tickets had he just handed over a bit of blunt and rented a small tyke for a few hours.

Unless, of course, those tykes were like Olivia, who proved, once more, to be her mother's child in spirit if not in appearance. The little girl possessed an uncanny ability, at such a tender age, to differentiate between friendly interaction and conversation designed to test the waters of availability and interest but had yet to learn her mother's restraint and panache when it came to staking her territory. And, inevitably, Sophie looked to Livvie to sort out who was friend and who was foe, then reacted accordingly.

Such as the case with a tall, tanned, stacked and skimpily attired blonde who approached them on that day.

"Well, aren't the two of you just adorable," the woman oozed, stooping down to the girls' eye level while providing Remington an intentional view of her ample, and barely covered, bosom. She focused her attention on Sophie. "And _you,_ remind me of myself when I was your age." Livvie's narrowed eyes sent Sophie scampering away from the cart to hide behind her father, grasping his legs and peeking out from behind them.

"My mommy says we shouldn't ever talked to strangers," Livvie announced, her chin tipping up a notch.

"Mind your manners, a stór," Remington admonished, gently tugging a braid to soften the words. "Mommy also expects you to be polite," he reminded, while giving the woman a 'what can you do' smile.

"She's just the spitting image of you, isn't she?"the woman commented, lifting a pair of predatory eyes to him.

"On the surface," he agreed, "But all my wife where it matters most." The woman's eyes glanced at his left hand, which he'd left intentionally in clear view. Noting the wedding band lying there, she quickly moved on her way.

Shopping resumed, with Sophie back in place at the side of the cart after the woman's departure, Remington addressed her.

"I do believe it's your turn to pick our special meal this week, a thaisce," he reminded.

"Pizza?" she asked, her green eyes looking up at him hopefully. He chuckled low in his throat. His wife and eldest daughter, it would seem, shared similar ideas of a 'special meal.'

"Pizza, it is," he easily agreed. While not the biggest fan of the fare, he did enjoy the time spent in the kitchen with his daughters creating it. "Any thought as to the toppings?"

"Sausage, peppers and tomatoes?" Ah, a bit of himself coming out in her now. If one was to eat pizza, it was with a bit of a gourmet flair. His smiled widened.

"Pineapple!" Olivia shouted the interjection. His face fell.

"No denying your Holt roots, is there, Livvie Bee?" She cocked her head to the side and looked up at him, puzzled.

"Huh?" His smile reappeared and he tapped a finger to the end of her nose.

"Just having a bit of fun with you. Let's gather what it is we need, hmmmm?"

A return to the produce section followed, to collect peppers, pineapple, sun dried tomatoes, as well as fresh basil and oregano, garlic and tomatoes for the sauce. The gourmet section gave up mozzarella, Parmigiano Reggiano and Pecorino Romano cheeses.

It was however, the final aisle of the day that served up an unexpected crisis. Picking up a two pound bag of flour and tossing it in the cart, Remington turned around to find Olivia no longer holding on to the cart, as per the rules of their shopping expeditions. Turning his head this way, then that, he found her staring at something on the opposite side of the aisle, about fifteen feet away. Pulling a box off the shelf, she clutched it reverently to her chest.

"What have you there, Livvie?" he inquired as she returned to the cart. Taking the box from her, he peered at the long-eared white rabbit and the colorful display of cereal in a bowl. He shook his head and returned it to the shelf. "You know how Mommy and I feel about such. We prefer you to have a hot, nu—"

" I love it," she pleaded, lip beginning to quiver. The corner of his mouth quirked upwards.

"Hmmm," he hummed, "I think not. You've never had it so would have no idea—"

Livvie pulled the box back down and hugged it.

"But, Trix are for kids," she countered, eyes welling as she realized she was about to be denied what she saw as her very own treasure.

"Nevertheless, the answer is no," he told her firmly.

Then, to his utter mortification, Livvie let out an ear piercing wail that drew the looks of anyone nearby.

* * *

"Mommy, Mommy," Livvie called as she raced through the house with Sophie nipping at her heels. "Look what Da gotted me and Sophie!" She held up the box of cereal that she'd insisted on holding the entire ride home. Laura leveled a steady gaze on Remington as he appeared in the living room, looking haggard and carrying bags of groceries. "So, I see." She took the box and sat it on the counter. "Girls, go upstairs and change into play clothes, please." As the girls ran for the stairs, Laura shifted Holt to her other hip, while directing a pair of raised brows to her husband.

"Laura, I promise you, I spent the morning at the movies, and not in a pleasant way," he began before she could dig into him.

"Oh?"

"First, we had to play out a scene from that sentimental fluff of a movie you enjoyed so much," he dropped the bags on the island in the kitchen, and gesticulated with a hand. "The one with a baby and the three blokes? Droves of women flocking them at the park because of the cute little tyke?"

" _Three Men and A Baby?"_ she offered, dryly.

"That's the one," he agreed, as he began putting away the items requiring refrigeration. "Then it was on to a scene straight out of _The Exorcist_ , Livvie wailing and carrying on right there, in the middle of the market, as though she were possessed." Leaving the door to the refrigerator standing open, he turned to face her, while rubbing at his face. "I was just waiting for her head to begin spinning around, while she spewed endless amounts of—" She held up her hand, stopping him.

"I've got the picture," she cut him off, and held up the box of cereal. "So, you gave in to a temper tantrum."

"You're missing the point," he argued. "Our sweet, well-mannered child…"

"Who you often point out has a temper to rival my own..."

"Turned into this… this… child _possessed_!" he finished.

"So you gave in to her, establishing a precedent that whenever she wishes to get her way, she should act out," she summarized. He looked at her, stunned by her lack of support.

"What else would you have me do? People were lining up at the end of the aisles to see—"

"You pick her up and walk out," she answered, cutting him off. "What you _don't do_ is teach our very strong willed child that such behavior will get her what she wants!"

"But, we'd completed the shop—"

"Olivia!" Laura called out, as she stepped to where she could be seen from the landing at the top of the stairs.

"Yes, Mommy?" Livvie called back, looking over the railing and down at her mother, Sophie next to her side.

"Come down here, please." Livvie recognized that particular tone, and looked to her sister for help. Sophie quickly shook her head and backed away. Livvie puffed out a breath and slowly, very slowly made her way down the stairs. "Come with me, please." Livvie shuffled her feet behind her mother, eventually making it to the kitchen where she stood waiting. Laura held up the box of cereal. Livvie glanced from the box, to her mother's stern face, to her father, giving the last a look that clearly said 'you tattled' while the look on her father's face clearly said 'you got me in trouble with your mother.'

"Yes, Mommy?" Livvie asked, putting on her best smile, hoping to charm her mother.

"I hear you weren't on your best behavior at the store with Da." The smile faltered. "In fact, I hear you had a temper tantrum, embarrassing him, your sister… _and yourself_ , all to get a box of cereal you know we do not allow you to have. Is that right?"

"But I love it," Livvie implored, hoping the line might work on her mother, whereas her father was immune.

"That neither changes our rules nor excuses your behavior." She paused for a long second, then nodded her head, decision made. "So, there will be no cereal," she emphasized the point by stepping on the pedal of the trashcan, and dropping the box into the receptacle, much to Livvie heartbreak, "And, you'll spend the afternoon in your room, after which you'll apologize to your Da and Sophie for embarrassing them. Do you understand?" Tears welled in Livvie's eyes, then spilled over when she nodded.

"Yes," she answered, around her quivering lip.

"One more thing: If you _ever_ behave like you did this morning, again, you can stay home with me while Da, Sophie and Holt run errands. Understood?" The threat of taking away her beloved weekend mornings with Da made its impact, and the tears flowed freely. Unable to speak around her tears, she nodded her head. "Then, go up to your room."

Livvie fled the room, and ran up the stairs. Automatically, Remington stepped towards the kitchen doorway.

"Hold it, buster!" Laura ordered. He turned and gave her a look as pitiful as Olivia's had been

"But, Laura, she's –"

"Take one more step, and you'll be doing some crying of your own on the couch for a long time to come, Mr. Steele." He looked prepared to protest, but seeing the look in her eyes, he swallowed… hard.

"Awwwww."

* * *

Olivia threw herself on her bed and sobbed into her pillow. She didn't like it when Mommy and Da were upset with her. That her treasured cereal was in the trash only made things all the worse.

Sophie peeked into Livvie's room and seeing the coast was clear, climbed up on her sister's bed and lay next to her.

"It'll be okay, Livvie," she assured, then wrapped an arm around Livvie, prepared to stay as long as her sister needed her.


	23. October 1991 - 4th Birthday Approaching

_October 1991 – 4_ _th_ _birthday approaching_

"So, a stór, you've a big birthday only a couple weeks from now, hmmm?" Remington asked his first born and middle child, peering at her in the rearview mirror as he drove the girls and him home from Saturday morning errands.

"I'm going to be four, like Sophie!" she confirmed, with a wide smile.

"That you are," he concurred. "Have you any idea who you'd like to invite to your party?" Her blue eyes lit up and she nodded her head enthusiastically.

"Snow White!" she called out, then thought to add, "And Sleeping Beauty for Sophie, too!" He frowned and rubbed at his chin.

"I was speaking of friends from school, Livvie Bee," he clarified. "Any idea who—"

"Our friends like Snow White and Sleeping Beauty, too!" Livvie proclaimed, then turned to her sister. "Don't they, Sophie?"

"Uh-huh," Sophie agreed. "And Ariel, too!" He searched his memory and came up blank.

"Ariel?" he wondered aloud.

"She has red hair like Aunt Frances did," Sophie supplied her father.

He laughed warmly at the memory.

Frances had called Laura positively hysterical, vowing she could never leave the house again after a new hairdresser had bodged her hair. While he'd been unable to hear precisely what was said, that he could hear Frances' voice at all, where he lay on the couch across the bedroom watching the evening news, spoke to the woman's mental state. Once Laura had hung up the phone, she'd taken up residence at the opposite end of the couch. Out of habit, he reached for her foot.

"Dare I ask?"

"Bad dye job."

"Surely it can't be as bad as all that," he reasoned.

"From what I understand, she asked for Rita Hayworth hair and ended up with Ronald McDonald's." They'd both laughed disbelievingly, before turning the conversation in another direction.

Three days later when the Pipers had arrived for their bi-weekly family lunch they'd discovered, in a truly rare occurrence, Frances hadn't exaggerated at all and Laura's 'Oh, my…' had been greeted with a flood of tears. He chuckled now, remembering it.

"…right, Da?" Coming back to the present, Remington gave a shake of his head, then reviewed the conversation they'd been having prior to him drifting off.

"Yes, yes, Ariel," he agreed.

"And Snow White and Sleeping Beauty." This from Sophia.

"Of course. A trio of princesses."

"And the castle," Livvie added.

"The castle, of course." _Castle?_

"Can we tell Michaela, Whitney, and Elizabeth, Da?" Livvie asked.

"And Vanessa," Sophie interjected. Livvie's eyes widened, having forgotten.

"And Vanessa!" Olivia seconded. "Can we?"

"Tell them about your party? I don't see why not," he agreed. In the back seat the girls squealed with delight.

"Can we weared princess dresses?" Livvie pleaded.

"'Can we wear,'" he corrected. "Again, I don't see why not." Another peal of happiness came from the back seat, along with excited clapping from Livvie.

"We get to dress up, Sophie!"

"And have princesses and a castle!" Sophie added.

"It'll be the bestest birthday ever!" Livvie declared.

In the front seat, Remington did a double take, having realized he'd missed something of vital importance. He hit the brakes a little harder than he meant to at the security gate at the end of their drive. The Explorer lurched to his stop as he looked at Livvie in the rearview mirror.

"Uh, a stór, I don't recall agreeing to princesses and castles," he corrected, "And you know Mommy—"

"Uh-huh," she interrupted. "You said a tree of princesses." _Trio_ , he mentally corrected, cringing when he saw Livvie's eyes welling up.

"And a castle," Sophie added, crestfallen. _Awwww,_ he inwardly groaned. Laura was going to have his head for this, unless he found a way around it.

"I guess I did," he conceded. "But let's keep it between the three of us, until I can speak to Mommy, hmmmm?" _Should I live to tell the tale, afterwards._

"Like a secret?" Livvie asked.

"Yes, precisely like that," he confirmed.

Then with dread, he punched the code into the key pad and watched the gate on the drive roll open.

 _Dead man, driving._ He needed to come up with a solution, and fast.

* * *

After lunch, as Laura stood at the sink washing dishes, and Remington dried then put them away…

"Uh, Laura," he began, "You've always been a woman who believes in redemption, that people can learn from prior mistakes." The hand running the cloth over a dish stilled for a split second, then resumed.

"That's right," she cautiously agreed, drawing out the words.

"I've had three years to consider my… over exuberance… whilst planning Livvie's first birthday party, and I was wondering if… um… you might consider letting me have another go at it?" he proposed, then added with a hint of desperation her keen ears immediately picked up on, "You know how much Livvie means to me. She's my first born child, the answer to my-" She held up a hand, silencing him.

"Stop the sales pitch," she ordered, then handed him the dish to dry while she picked up the next. "Did you have something specific in mind?" He flashed his pearly whites, positively chuffed she'd been so easily swayed.

"She'd like a princess party, similar to Sophie's, although I have in a mind a few… minor… alterations," he offered, as he set the dry plate in the cabinet.

"What _kind_ of _minor_ alterations did you have in mind?" she asked, suspiciously, handing him the next, then fishing a glass from the basin of sudsy water. His tongue flicked out to moisten suddenly dry lips.

"Well, you know how the girls love their princesses," he approached. "I thought we might hire—"

"No," she drew the word out, firmly. He swallowed hard. Maybe he could work around the princesses with the girls if…

"Then, perhaps we could rent—"

"Noooo," she drew the word out even longer, even more firmly. Desperation set in.

"But, Laura," he implored. "The girls. They're so looking forward to—" She dropped the glass she'd been washing back into the water, and slapped off the faucet. Grabbing a dish towel from off the countertop she spun on a heel and faced him.

" _What_ have you done?" she clipped out, crossing her arms in front of herself. _Retreat and regroup, retreat and regroup,_ his innate sense of self-preservation screamed. Instead, he moved his mouth several times, and rubbed at the back of his neck, his eyes flicking back and forth between the exits to the kitchen, his treacherous legs refusing to move.

"Before you go blowing things out of proportion—" he began, then seeing her eyes narrow at that turn of phrase, tried again. "I was merely having a conversation with Livvie about her upcoming birthday…" Her lips tightened and a set of fingers thrummed against the other arm. He rubbed at the back of his neck in response, wondering how long it would be until she lobbed his head right off it.

"She wished to have a princess party like Soph," he rushed to explain, stumbling all over himself, "Then Soph mentioned Ariel. 'Who's Ariel,' I asked, and she brought up Frances' hair, which even you have to admit was quite humorous, and I became rather caught up in recalling that evening…" And, just like that, he lost train of thought. "…The foot massage, then…" With a waggle of his brows, he sauntered towards her.

" _What_ did you do?" His feet froze, his face fell and that hand dragged through his hair again.

"It was hardly my fault!" he protested. "If anything, Livvie and Sophie used a brief… _very brief_ … pause to enjoy the memory of that night to… to… catch me unaware. One moment they were speaking of this…" he waved a hand in the air "…Little Mermaid, and next thing I knew they'd… _without my knowledge…_ " he emphasized "… and during what I believed was no more than casual conversation… they _somehow_ extracted a promise from me… that…" He pulled a hand through his hair and gave her a beseeching look "… the princesses would be at Livvie's party, live and in living color, along with a castle," he finished feebly.

"So, let me get this straight," she replied, in a tone far too light for his taste, as she slowly approached him. "You expect _me_ to believe, you… the adult…" she poked a finger into his chest. He raised his hands, backing up, "…the consummate conman…" another poke, and another step backwards "…was… _outwitted…_ by a pair of _preschoolers?!_ " she asked, sarcastically, her voice rising on the last of the words. He gave her his most charming of smiles.

"Now to be fair, Laura," he stepped to her and grasped her hips with his hands, and raised his brows at her, flirtatiously, "I have been out of the game for more than nine years now, thanks to the love of a good—" The purse of her lips and lift of her brows halted his words.

"Nice try," she drawled. His face fell. "Now, repeat after me: Your Mother and I will discuss it." His brows furrowed, and he appeared undecided. "Mr. Steele…" she ground out.

"'Your Mother and I will discuss it,'" he repeated, resignedly.

"From her forward, when _any_ discussion regarding birthday parties takes place, any request will be met with that answer." She tweaked his chin and backed out of his embrace. "Understood? Finish the dishes," she directed, before turning to leave the room. He watched her retreating from.

"Where are you going?" They did, after all, have a long-standing agreement: He cooks the meals, she does the dishes. "I made—"

"To my office. Apparently I need to scrounge up some princesses and a castle, so our daughter' s heart won't be broken _on her birthday._ "

He grimaced.

* * *

 _October 1992 – 5th birthday approaching_

"Da," Livvie piped up, from where she and Sophie were playing in the sand, "Can Barney come to my party?" Remington prepared to tell her, of course, she could any little friend she wished at her party, then wisely clamped his mouth shut, recalling the year prior.

"Mommy and I will talk it over," he finally replied.

"Okay," Livvie agreed, easily.

Never had he been so grateful for having uttered those words than when he learned Barney was not a school mate, but a big, purple dinosaur whom, it seemed, was all the latest rage.


	24. December 25, 1991 - 4 years old

_December 25, 1991 – 4 years old_

Remington clapped his hands together with relish, his eyes on his oldest two children – four-year-olds Olivia and Sophia.

"So, Little Ladies Steele…" the girls giggled at the moniker "…are you ready to get this show on the road?"

The Steele family, along with Thomas and Catherine, were gathered in the family room during the early hours of Christmas morning. The tree was laden – over laden in Laura's opinion – with presents, and the girls had been investigating the packages while awaiting their grandparents to join the family.

"Can we open them, Da? Can we, can we?" Olivia asked dancing on her tiptoes, her eyes bright with exhilaration. Standing up, he feigned sudden thought, scratching his head for the dramatic effect.

"Well, I don't know. Perhaps we should make Christmas breakfast first." Laura quietly laughed as Livvie vigorously shook her head.

"I'm not hungry," Livvie insisted, then whirled to look at her sister. "Are you Sophie?"

"I'm not hungry," Sophie replied, wide eyed and shaking her head slowly.

"Maybe Granddad would like a bite to eat, hmmm?" he suggested. Livvie's head snapped in her grandfather's direction.

"Oh, I wouldn't be able to eat a bite, wondering what it is St. Nickolas may have brought the children," Thomas dissented, laughing. Livvie looked to her father again, dancing on her tiptoes, hands clasped beneath her chin in a plea.

"Please, Da, please," she begged. With a roll of her eyes at him, Laura intervened.

"Ignore your Da, girls. He's just teasing you," she assured, while Remington grinned at her. Getting up from the ottoman, she crossed to the tree and sat down before it. "But before we start opening, I'll need the two of you to help me pass out everyone's presents."

The girls eagerly agreed, giving Remington Holt's presents as well as his own, their grandparents their gifts, and stacking their own packages in a pile on a pair of chairs.

Livvie thought it fun at first, taking someone their present, seeing their smile, exchanging 'thank you' and 'your welcomes'. Enough fun that she skipped back-and-forth, back-and-forth, the first half dozen presents she delivered. But then she began casting longing glances towards her own presents piling up on the chair and she would swear the bows on the presents sparkled extra bright each time she took a peek in their direction. The sparkly red bow reminded her of the ring her Mommy never took off, the green one of some of the pretty stones in Mommy's jewelry box.

She really LIKED shiny objects…

And she was VERY curious what was in the packages beneath those bows.

It was so, so hard to keep passing out those presents and to keep a smile on her face when what she wanted more than ANYTHING in the world was to uncover her new treasures.

"All right, girls, that's all the presents for now," Laura announced. Livvie's eyes grew wide.

"Can we open now, Mommy?" she asked.

"May we open," Laura corrected automatically, smiling as she stood then joined Remington where he sat on the floor next to Holt, "And, yes, you may."

With a squeal of joy, Livvie ran to the chair where those presents awaited her, and picking up the first present, unceremoniously shredded the pretty wrapping paper, making her mother wince... and leaving her father laughing low in his throat.

"Such vigor, such _exuberance_ ought to be appreciated, don't you think?" Remington needled Laura.

"Mmmm an enthusiasm that nearly matches your own," she answered, wryly.

"Give her time, Laura, give her time." With a roll of her eyes and a smile, she bent forward to remove a piece of wrapping paper from the baby's hand.

"Santa gived me Belle Presto Magix!" she cried out. "Sophie, look! We can dress up Belle!" Before Sophie could answer, Livvie moved on to the next package. _Rippppppppp._ "The Beast. It's the Beast, Sophie! Look, Da! Santa give me the Beast!"

"So I see," he nodded, reaching for the camera sitting on a nearby end table. He snapped pictures as Livvie tore into the next gift, timing his shots perfectly to catch Livvie as she leaped to her feet, utter joy reflected on her face.

"It's Belle! It's Belle! Santa gaved me Belle _and_ the Beast!" Snatching up the clear faced box that contained the Beast, she scrambled across the living room and up onto the couch to sit between Thomas and Catherine. "Look what I got!"

"They're lovely, darling," Catherine fawned over the dolls for her granddaughter's sake. "They look like they just stepped out of the movie." Livvie struggled with the package trying to free Belle from her cardboard and plastic prison. She peered up at Thomas, her eyes beseeching his help.

"I can't get her out."

"Shall I try my hand?" Thomas offered, taking the box from her hands.

"What do you say, a stór?" Remington hinted. Livvie's eyes widened at the reminder and she pressed up on her knees to wrap her arms around her grandfather's neck.

"Yes, please, Granddad," she told him, giving him the biggest hug she could.

Releasing his neck, she slipped off the couch and ran back to the chair and her presents. Those glittery bows once again caught her attention and a smile lit her face. Digging through the discarded paper, she carefully removed each bow, setting them on the coffee table in a neat row, then reverently removed the bows from her remaining presents, carefully lining them up.

She puffed in frustration when Holt crawled to the table, pulled himself up and reached for a bow.

"No, no, Holt," she admonished taking the bow out of his hand as he shoved it towards his mouth. Laura reached over and plucked the baby away from the table.

"Livvie Bee, don't you want to open the rest of your presents?" Laura asked. Olivia looked at the gifts piled on the chair then shrugged her shoulders.

"No," she answered, simply, returning her attention to the task in front of her, frowning as she moved some of the bows around.

Laura looked over her shoulder at Remington who, much like their daughter, shrugged a careless shoulder while giving her a look that said 'What can you do?' He was, in fact, correct. Since her second Christmas, at a mere 13 months old, when something caught her fancy she was simply done opening presents. Thankfully, their family and friends accepted this quirkiness as 'adorable.' Still, Remington gave it a go, seeing if he could convince her to forge ahead.

"Seems to me there was one or two more things you hoped Santa Claus to bring. Aren't you curious to see if he came through with the goods? Hmmm? I know I am." Livvie hadn't taken her eyes at her table of bows while he'd spoken. Her hands stilled as she turned her head towards her father.

"No," she answered, shaking her head. "I just wanna play with my bows." His back straightened where he sat, a stunned look on his face.

"Your… _bows?"_ he asked in disbelief. As Laura sat back down on the floor beside him, she sat Holt down then lay a soft hand on her husband's forearm.

"Leave it alone, Mr. Steele," she advised quietly.

"But _bows_ , Laura," he complained under his breath. "I mean... _bows._ "

"What can I say?" she replied. "Like father, like daughter." He puffed out a breath mocking the very idea.

"I can assure you, I'd never have passed over a present for a bow," he harrumphed. Bending forward he grabbed Holt as the baby made a race for the table. Plopping him down on his diapered bottom, Remington dropped one of the baby's gifts in front of him. Laura shifted slightly closer to him.

"Lemme set the scene for you. The ghost of Emmett Devore. A saloon in an abandoned mining town. An old journal belonging to a gold prospector. A single sleeping bag." A fond smile lifted his lips.

"Mmmmmm," he hummed, angling himself to face her, "With delightfully snug fit, as I recall," he reminisced, earning a soft laugh from her and a pair of memory warmed brown eyes sparkling up at him.

"Yes, it was," she agreed. "But more to the point, I asked how serious your hobby of gold prospecting was and you said…"

* * *

" _ **You know how I am around shiny objects. Can't resist them."**_

* * *

His eyes slanted towards their first born, as memories whirled in his head. An infant reaching for Laura's sparkling necklace. The way she was drawn to the glimmer of the sun on the water. Her love for the tiaras in the girls dress-up clothes collection. How for years she'd reverently touch Laura's earrings, her necklace while declaring reverently, 'pretty.'

"Here you are, my darling girl," Thomas announced, holding the treasured doll and her accessories up, now free of their cardboard and plastic trappings.

Remington's eyes skirted over the glittery bows, to where he daughter was climbing up on the couch to claim her beloved doll.

"Look, Mommy!" Livvie called to Laura. "Belle's dress _sparkles!_ "

"It's a _very_ pretty dress," Laura complimented, as Livvie nodded her earnest agreement. Remington's eyes returned to his wife's face.

"Point taken," he conceded, "Although I do believe _you_ may have forgotten the most memorable portion of that conversation." Her brows lifted in surprise, and her brown eyes questioned him.

"Oh? And what portion is that?" she wondered. He leaned in closer and palmed her cheek in his hand, his thumb gently stroking the top of her cheekbone beneath her eyes.

"The part about your shimmering eyes…" His hand slipped away, only for a pair of fingers to touch the bottom of her chin, tipping it up. "…And kissable lips." He leaned in to sample those very lips. She was smiling softly as he pulled away, tempting him to bend his head downwards again.

"Speaking of children like you…" The descent of his head stalled and his brows furrowed as he looked at her questioningly. "Your son's about to abscond with someone else's treasures…"

* * *

 _ **TBC in Vignettes of Steele: Holt**_


	25. January 20, 1992 - 4 years old

_January 20, 1992 – 4 years old_

The entire Steele family – Remington, Laura, Sophie, Olivia and Holt - piled out of the Explorer in front of the Good Shepherd Catholic School. Remington carried Holt while Laura took a hand of each of the girls in hers.

"Mommy, why we back at school?" Olivia wondered, cocking her head to the side to look at her mother.

"Tonight we're registering Sophie for kindergarten," Laura announced.

"What does 'regtering' mean?" Olivia questioned.

"Reg-i-ster-ing," Laura corrected. "It means we are going to sign Sophie up so she can begin kindergarten."

"I'm going to kindagarden?" the strawberry blond, green eyed girl inquired, those eyes growing remarkably round.

"Kindergarten and not quite yet," Laura answered. "After summer." On the opposite side of her mother, Livvie danced excitedly.

"We're going to kindygarden, Sophie," she announced, positively tickled she'd at last made it to 'big girl school.'

"Not quite, a stór," Remington joined the conversation. "Sophie will be going to kindergarten whereas you'll spend one more year in preschool. I'm afraid you'll still be a bit too young."

Laura found herself at a sudden standstill when both her daughters halted in their tracks.

"I don't want to go to kindagarten without Livvie," Sophie insisted in a stricken voice.

"I want to go to kindygarden with Sophie," Livvie insisted at the same time.

Laura openly grimaced at her partner and husband. She had voiced this very concern to Remington the evening before. While Sophie was infinitely more confident than she'd been nearly a year ago, she was still very reliant on Laura and Livvie when she found herself in situations that made her frightened or insecure. As for Livvie? Their firstborn saw the age difference between she and Sophia as negligible and wanted to do everything her older sister did. Remington had tried to assuage her concerns and now sent her a sheepish look acknowledging her instincts had again been on target.

Releasing the girls' hands, Laura turned around and stooped before them so she would be eye-to-eye. When it came to playing 'tough parent' in the Steele household, the job inevitably fell to Laura.

"When we get home, we will discuss your fears," she looked at Sophie, "And what you want," she looked at Livvie. "But right now, we are going inside, and we will all be on our very best behavior. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mommy," the girls answered in meek harmony.

The Steele family made it through the twenty-five minute introduction to kindergarten presentation, completed the paperwork, and scheduled Sophie's kindergarten pre-testing for August 7th. That evening as they tucked the girls into bed, Remington sat on Livvie's bed, while Laura sat on Sophie's.

"Alright, Soph, let's have it. Why don't you want to go to kindergarten?" Laura asked, stroking her daughter's head. Sophie stuck her thumb in her mouth and held her silence, a behavior – a concerning one – that had been absent for months now. "You're certainly ready for it," Laura assured. "You know your alphabet—"

"Me too!" Livvie interjected.

"You can count to twenty—" Laura continued, not acknowledging Livvie yet as it was not her turn.

"Me, too!" Livvie burst out.

"You can write your name—" Olivia gave her dad's sleeve a hard tug.

"Da, I can writed my name!" she gave Remington a pleading look.

"Indeed you can, a stór," he agreed, patting her on her leg while looking down at her with a smile full of pride.

This time, Laura did heed Olivia's proclamations. Tilting her head to the side thoughtfully, her fingers stroked the base of her throat.

"Yes, you can," she agreed quietly, slowly. Her eyes met Remington's and he gave a look that inquired what she was thinking. Returning her attention to Sophia, she gently removed the little girl's thumb from her mouth then stroked her head soothingly. "Your Da and I need to talk. For now, I don't want you…" she looked at Livvie "… _either_ of you…" then returned her attention to Sophie, "…to worry about Kindergarten. It's still a long way away and you never know what might happen." Sophie nodded her head. "Goodnight, sweet girl." She leaned down and pressed a kiss to Sophie's forehead then stood and walked to Olivia's bed. "Goodnight, baby."

Remington said his goodnights then followed Laura to their room, where she closed the door behind them.

"What are you thinking, Laura?" he queried.

"Tonight at registration, Father Mahoney said the cut-off date for kindergarten enrollment for next year is September 30th," she reminded him as she paced.

"Yes, he was very clear on that point," he agreed, shoving his hands in his pockets and watching as she wore a path on the floor.

"Olivia only misses that deadline by thirty-two days, Remington. _Days._ Less than five weeks. Not months or nearly a year, but days." She paused her pacing and crossed her arms, rubbing at them. "And she's not wrong. She's as ready for kindergarten as Sophie, as far as skills are concerned. If they could accept her a little over a month early for pre-school because of how advanced she was, one would think they could make an exception now." He pursed his lips and nodded slowly in agreement.

"One would think, yes." He eyed her, easily assessed what she was thinking. "Should I assume we'll be late to the office in the morning?"

"No," she shook her head slowly. "I think I'll make an appointment with Father Mahoney for tomorrow afternoon. Should we get good news, I'll call Miri and let her know she'll have Hot until after dance class, then you and I can take the girls for pizza before dance class." She gave him a playful smirk. "They'll be thrilled that Da is accompanying them this evening." He shriveled his nose in distaste. While he loved watching his girls at their recitals, watching the actual process of teaching was mind numbing.

"Oh," he harrumphed in a tone approaching a whine. At that, she dropped her arms and approached him. With a wide smile she slowly ran a single finger down his front from the base of his neck to his belt.

"If you don't start complaining, you can join me in the shower," she told him, adding a sultry layer to her tone while widening her eyes at him. Then she turned on her heels and began walking towards the bathroom.

"Dance class, eh?" he commented, while following behind her. "There's nothing quite like watching our daughters committing themselves to the arts, is there?"

* * *

 _January 21, 1992_

"Mommy!" Sophie cried out happily as soon as she spotted Laura and Remington waiting outside of her class room. She threw herself at Laura, wrapping her little arms around her and hugging her tightly. Laura stroked her daughter head.

"Hi, sweet girl." Olivia might believe the sun rose and set at her father's command, but Sophie was hers first and foremost, and in truth it felt… really good.

"Da!" Olivia squealed, throwing herself at him as though to prove that very point. Remington easily swung his little doppelganger up into his arms.

"Well, Olivia Elena Steele, as I live and breathe, what are you doing here?" he teased.

"Da, you're silly!" she laughed with glee.

"Girls, we have a couple surprises for you," Laura announced.

"Three, as a matter of fact," Remington added.

"I love surprises!" Livvie exclaimed, bouncing up and down in her father's arms. "What are they? What are they?" Remington thought better of holding his exuberant offspring when they broke the news and set her down on her feet. A silent look at his wife told her the big news should come from her, since it was she who'd come up with the solution.

"First, Da and I are here at school because we just finished registering Livvie for kindergarten next year. So the two of you will be going _together."_ A thousand watt smile lit Sophie's face while Livvie screeched. Dancing on her tiptoes she grabbed her sister's arms.

"We're going to kindygarden, Sophie!" she shouted.

"Together!" Sophie shouted back, and dancing with Livvie.

"Would you like to hear the second surprise?" Remington asked, trying to hold his smile back and adding a bored note to his tone. The girls fell still and stared up at him.

"The four of us are going to _pizza_ before dance class," he informed them.

"And the third surprise," Laura finished, "Is that Da is going to dance class tonight."

The news set Olivia to squealing and dancing again, and her sister joining in.

"Alright girls, inside voices please," Laura directed. "The sooner we get to the car, the sooner we get our pizza."

The girls needed no further convincing turning and skipping towards the school's exit. Taking Laura's hand in his, he hooked her arm through his.

"Enjoy it while it lasts, Laura." She crinkled her nose at him.

"What do you mean?"

"In only a few short years, the excitement of school will have worn thin and we'll find ourselves forever being given the cold shoulder for making them tend to their studies rather than allowing them to enjoy the sand and surf," he reminded her, wryly.

Her laughter followed them out the door.


	26. April 1992 - 4 years old

_April 18, 1992 – 4 years old_

"You looked like the girls kept you busy during the hunt," Laura observed, taking note of his still slightly damp shirt. Remington looked in either direction, then carefully pulled his black SUV into the busy Saturday afternoon traffic.

"Mmmm, yes," he agreed. "And I suspect I have our eldest to blame for that." Her brows raised in surprise, as she slanted her eyes to peer at their two oldest children in the backseat, their heads pressed together as they diligently assessed their 'take' at the Easter Egg hunt.

"Sophie?" She didn't both to conceal her shock.

"Mmmmm," he hummed again. "After the fourth or fifth egg, Livvie was prepared to call it quits. I've no idea what Sophie said to her, but afterwards they were like two children possessed, determined to ferret out each and every egg not already claimed by another child."

"Which explains their baskets," she assessed.

"Mommy?" Olivia piped up from the backseat.

"Yes, Livvie?" Livvie looked at her older sister, who nodded her head in encouragement.

"Can we buyed bubbles and chalk?"

"Please. You forgot to say please," Sophie reminded her in sotto voice.

"Please?" Livvie added.

"No today, Livvie Bee. We already have bubbles and chalk at home, and the _Easter Bunny,"_ Laura added an excited note to her tone, "Is coming tonight, remember?"

"But it's for Emma Jean!" Livvie protested.

"Emma Jean?" Remington asked, turning to look at Laura before returning his eyes to the road.

"Emma Jean, from class?" she hinted. He raised his brows and shook his head. _No idea._ "The short one," she added.

"Laura, it's a pre-school class. They're _all_ short." She puffed out a breath.

"Long blonde hair, blue eyes," she prompted.

"Well, now you've narrowed it down to a half-dozen children in the class," he commented, then with another lift of his brows and a peek at her, added, "Even after eliminating the boy whose hair is as long as Livvie's."

"Her mother is the short one, perpetually with a golden tan, and large…" she let him fill in the remainder for himself. A wide grin lit his face, as he pictured the stacked, petite blonde in his mind.

"Ah, yes, Emma Jean." The wolfish grin earned him an eye roll, before she returned her attention to their daughter.

"Does Emma Jean have a birthday you forgot to tell us about?" Laura asked Livvie.

"No." Livvie shook her head in concert with her response.

"Emma Jean's Mommy said the Easter Bunny might not be able to find their new house," Sophie explained, helpfully.

"They had to move because of the vorice," Livvie elaborated.

"Davors, Livvie, not vorice," Sophie corrected.

"Da-vore-us," Laura sounded out, correcting both.

"Emma Jean's sad," Livvie continued.

"We don't like it when Emma Jean's sad," Sophie pitched in.

"So we made her a basket," Livvie announced, holding up a singular basket into which the girls had combined all their Easter Egg Hunt finds: Candy filled eggs, loose candy, the stuffed bunny Sophie had received in exchange for her golden ticket, and coloring book and crayon's Livvie had won with her ticket filled the wicker basket.

"But we need bubbles and chalk," Sophie added.

"Emma Jean loves bubbles and chalk," Livvie furthered.

Remington and Laura exchanged glances.

"Do you know where Emma Jean lives?" he asked.

"No, I don't," she admitted, fingering her throat. "But I can call their teacher at home and find out." He glanced at his watch while she dug into through her purse, pulling out her address book.

"If you wouldn't mind taking the girls to buy the bubbles and chalk, Holt and I could make a quick trip through the market to pick up the necessities for an Easter dinner," he suggested. "A fair size ham shouldn't take but a few hours to cook." Laura reached for his hand and squeezed it.

"I'll call Mildred when we get home."

"What do you have in mind?" he asked.

"I was thinking Rusty might like to take add a stop tomorrow morning…"

* * *

That night, Remington waited while Olivia crawled up the length of her bed, and slipped under the covers, then tucked her in afterwards. The girls had opted to sleep in Livvie's room that night, and in the nearby bed, Sophie was already tucked in with Prince Charming curled up near her head, purring contentedly.

"Emma Jean liked her basket!" Livvie proclaimed.

"Mmm, that she did," her father agreed.

Emma Jean had been thrilled when the girls, along with parents and brother, had arrived on her front door step with the basket.

"We wonned it!" Olivia had pronounced.

Emma Jean's mother had been embarrassed, at first. The small bungalow in Rancho Park was a world away from their sprawling mansion in Bel Air. Through a silent look at one another, Remington and Laura had found they were on the same wavelength. By the time the family had departed, Emma Jean had her Easter basket in hand and Laura and Remington had managed a brief, quiet conversation with the little girl's mother. Tomorrow morning the Easter Bunny, thanks to Rusty, would make an appearance at Emma Jean's home right after he hopped his way across the terrace of the Steele's home, and on Monday the foundation's attorney – Jacoby Elliot – would be in touch with her, his services provided by the foundation pro bono. Emma Jean's father, it turned out, had abandoned the family eight months previously, emptying all but the family's checking account before skipping town. In a last, desperate attempt to survive, Emma Jean's mother had leased the family home to a movie producer, and any funds in excess of the mortgage now paid for Emma Jean's tuition, the rent on the bungalow, and the payment on the family car.

Unbeknownst to the two little girls lying snug in their beds in their beautiful home, their small act of kindness had had far reaching effects.

"We're _very_ proud of _both_ of you for thinking of Emma Jean," Laura praised.

"She don't like me and Sophie to be sad either," Livvie rationalized. Sophie nodded her vigorous agreement from her bed.

"She doesn't like," Laura automatically corrected.

"Now, Little Ladies Steele…" the girls giggled in unison at the name, as was par for the course when Remington referred them as such "…It's time to close those lovely eyes and go to sleep so a large, furry animal might invade our home." More giggles arose from the girls at that.

Laura and Remington bestowed bedtime kisses on each of the girls and wished them a goodnight, then left the bedroom, leaving the door cracked open just a wee bit.

Remington captured Laura by the waist and spun her around when she turned in the direction of the stairs. A smile gracing her lips, she slipped her arms around his neck and, tilting her head back, lifted her brows at him in question.

"It's times like these, Laura, that I think we might be doing a decent job at this parenting thing."

"Enjoy the feeling while it lasts, Mr. Steele," she patted a hand against his chest, "Because in a few short years, there will be days when we wonder if we did anything right at all."

She couldn't help laughing at the stricken look on his face, before she slipped out of his embrace and went downstairs to prepare for Easter morning.


	27. September 1992 - 4 years old

_September 1992 – 4 years old_

Remington, robe hanging open, rubbed at his eyes as he stepped into Sophie's room, prepared to wake the girls for their first day of Kindergarten. He and Laura had come to an agreement some days before that she would get Holt up and ready for the day, while he dressed the girls, then they would switch out: Holt would accompany him to the kitchen where he'd prepare breakfast and pack the girls' lunches while Laura did the girls' hair and had them gather their backpacks of school supplies. He was more than fine with that: She would expertly handle the chaos, while he peacefully moved their day forward behind the scenes, so to speak.

In his eyes, it was yet another example of how they complemented one another as parents.

He rubbed at his eyes again, and blinked several times as his sleep saturated mind tried to take in what he was seeing.

Or more specifically what he wasn't seeing…

Both of the beds were disheveled… and empty, save for Prince Charming who was contentedly curled up on Sophie's pillow, eyeing Remington as though asking why he dared disturb his peaceful slumber. With a frown in the direction of the cat that perpetually left hairs all over his otherwise pristine apparel, he stepped through the adjoining door into Livvie's room. Empty as well. A look towards first Livvie's bathroom then Sophie's showed doors wide open and lights off.

 _What in the devil? Surely they've not hared off to play on the first day of school?_

Turning on a heel he headed towards the stairs. Halfway through his descent he heard laughter and indiscernible chatter coming from the area of the kitchen below, and a smile graced his face. _Waiting to help Da with breakfast, then_. While preparing Saturday morning breakfast and Sunday brunch together had become quite the tradition for him and the children, he hadn't planned on it this morning. Perhaps, in light of the special occasion, they might be able to fit in preparation of an omelet and fresh fruit, he mused.

His feet sputtered to a stop at the doorway of the kitchen. His smile wobbled, then disappeared. His ability to speak, seemingly fled. Wide-eyed, he scrubbed at his face with his hand, as he stared at the utter destruction of his normally pristine kitchen.

Eggs and their shell counterparts, fully separate from one another, adorned the island. Pieces of lettuce adorned island and floor. Tomato juice trailed over the surface of the counter, while a container of blueberries was scattered hither and yon. Flour coated nearly every surface and filled two bowls. Measuring cups filled with milk and water congregated on island and counter next to the sink. An open jar of peanut butter and another of strawberry jam had spoons protruding from them, smears and trails of the sticky substances mixing with all else. Smoke was beginning to billow from the toaster. And in the mix of it all, a pair of flour dusted, red and purple speckled little girls, working together to smash a tomato flat, giggling with abandon as the fruit sprayed its juices at them with each push, each pounding.

Swallowing hard, he pushed a single word past his lips.

"Lau-ra!" he hollered.

A pair of bright green eyes and dazzling blue eyes landed on him.

"Look, Da! We helped make breakfast!" Livvie announced proudly.

"And to make our lunch!" Sophie chimed in, equally excited. His mouth mimicked the movements of a fish for several long seconds, before he managed to push fewer than a half dozen words past his lips.

"So I see." He turned his head towards the stairway to yell again, "Laura!", then strode quickly towards the toaster to relieve it of its contents.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Laura called back from above. Tossing the toast into the trash, he watched, mouth agape, as Sophie brought a curled fist down onto the tomato in front of her.

"Has the tomato done something to offend you?" he couldn't help but ask. Sophie grinned at him as though he was silly to even ask such a question.

"It's too big for my sammich," she explained, as though the reasoning was self-explanatory.

"And we can't touch knifes," Livvie reminded him. He held a hand pressed to his mouth as he slowly shook his head, then parted his fingers to respond.

"No. No, you can't."

"You bellow—" Laura's sarcastic greeting was cut short with a breathy, "Oh, my," as she took in the chaos. He looked upon her with a pained, stunned expression.

"We helped Da make breakfast," Livvie informed her.

"And lunch," Sophie once again added. Laura's fingers stroked her throat, her tongue moistened her lips, as her eyes flickered from Remington to the girls then back to her husband. That he hadn't devolved into yelling at and haranguing the girls spoke volumes about the character of the man she had married, but given the absence of color in his skin there was every possibility he might be having heart palpitations at that very moment.

"Girls, go upstairs and get cleaned up. You don't want to be late for your first day of kindergarten," she instructed calmly.

"School!" Livvie screeched, happily.

"Yay!" Sophie cried out, hopping with enthusiasm, forgetting all about the sandwich in front of her. "Come on, Livvie," she ordered, grabbing at her sister's hand. The two girls ran from the room as Laura's eyes followed them. When they could be heard clomping up the steps, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then approached the shocked man standing across the kitchen. She lay a soft palm against his chest and tried, in vain, to squelch the laughter in her eyes.

"Are you alright?" she asked. His eyes wandered around the room.

"My kitchen, Laura." Three words, conveying paragraphs.

"I've seen you make a bigger mess while preparing for a dinner party," she half-fibbed. It wasn't uncommon to see a collection of bowls, measuring cups, pots and pans scattered about, but he was absolutely fastidious about cleaning up drips and drops of anything.

"A blatant falsehood if ever I've heard one," he sniffed in indignation, his brows knitting together in a frown. Patting her hand on his chest, she smiled up at him.

"Go upstairs, get dressed, get the girls dressed as originally planned, and by the time you come back down, your kitchen will be as good as knew," she promised. He peered around the room skeptically.

"A task no mere mortal could accomplish, even yourself," he groused, with a pouting expression on his face. With a lift of her eyes heavenward, she grasped his upper arm and gave it a tug.

"Go," she ordered. "We'll sit the girls down tonight and discuss not 'cooking' alone, as well as respect for other people's belongings. "In the meantime, it's their first official day of school. Let's make it a good one, huh?" He dragged his feet on the way to the doorway, determined to maintain his pout. Her lips lifted in a lopsided smile, and she reached out and palmed a firm buttock. He spun around, brows lifted.

"First, my kitchen is vandalized," he summarized, and stepped towards her, she stepped backwards. He followed, a determined look on his face. "Then my wife all but dismisses my concerns about the wanton destruction that has occurred there. _And now_ ," he elongated the words, as he neatly trapped her against the counter with his body, "She assaults _my person?_ " he feigned offense. Undeterred, she lifted her brows in return at him, and skimmed her hand down his chest.

"Well, it _is_ a rather nice person…" He grinned at the compliment. Clasping her hips in his hands, he bent his head downwards.

"Only… nice?" he asked, fishing for a compliment. She tipped her head from side-to-side.

"Slightly better than average?" she teased. He should have known better if he believed she might give his ego a full blown stroke.

His lips pursed with amusement in the heartbeat before they covered hers. He didn't drop a chaste peck on those lips, either. With a hum, an arm slipped around her waist, a hand cupped the back of her head, and after a few teasing nips of his teeth, his tongue slipped past her lips to savor her flavor.

"Mommy and Da are always kissing," Livvie huffed. Their lips parted and a pair of heads turned in unison to eye their first born with her partner in crime standing at her side, grinning.

"Back upstairs, girls," Laura ordered, with a swipe of her hand in that general direction. "Da is going to get dressed then will be in to help you."

The duo disappeared again, in a trail of giggles. Laura took advantage of Remington's momentary distraction and slipped away.

"Go!" she directed, a finger pointing towards the doorway.

"Pleasure. From where I stand, the day has suddenly taken a decidedly upwards turn." He darted his head in to quickly buss her on the cheek as he passed.

She was smiling as she turned to survey the damage and decided where to begin. As she removed spoons from the peanut butter and jelly, she ruminated on how much longer she might be able to use a gentle stroke of the ego, a bit of flirtation to improve her husband's mood. They'd been married for six years, after all, and it still worked like a charm. While she emptied the measuring cups of milk and water into the sink, she conceded she had no idea… but it would certainly be fun to continue testing to see if the date of expiration had arrived.

* * *

 _ **TBC in Vignettes of Steele: Sophia**_


End file.
